Hidden 3 mos ago Post by smarty0114
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smarty0114 Human

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BEFORE THE PARTY AT CASA DE ACROPOLIS
A collab with @smarty0114 & @pandapolio


Dio whistled a tune he couldn't quite recognized as he strolled through a small park. For now the small area was vacant of humans, which was helpful for Dio. If any of them saw a young man walking through a park holding a stab wound they might make a fuss. Dio truly disliked hospitals, and most government funded institutions in fact. He could trace his distaste for these kind of things since his worship used to be banned in Greece. His followers would even be killed and treated like second class citizens at times. Of course it didn't help that they were typically exactly that: second class citizens. Women, slaves, and the downtroden had often used him as an escape from their lives. He was a way to forget pain and suffering, if just for a couple hours.

As he pondered Dio tripped over a gopher hole and stumbled to the ground roughly. Groaning he picked himself up and felt a tearing sensation in his wound. The hole in his stomach began to bleed aven more than before and Dio felt a nagging sense of worry in the back of his mind. "Well this is shit." While he wouldn't die from this, he could still feel the pain. Pushing through the pain he continued on his previous path, towards the street in front of him. Dio stumbled across the street and made his way up onto a raised porch. Testing the door he was relieved to find it was unlocked which meant someone was probably home. The injured god leaned on the wall as he entered the house, "Apollo, are you here?"

Dionysus stumbeled towards the closest chair he could find and fell into it. "Your a god of healing, right? Please tell me you better at fixing people up than you are at prophesy."

The house had been empty when Apollo returned from his escapades with Eros, but still a hot mess. Taking on the single molecule of responsibility that he and his friends shared amongst themselves, he set to work cleaning up his room. He needed it to look presentable, if Eros was going to come over tonight.

"Oh shit." Apollo's eyes widened for a moment, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion before instinct took over and he was grabbing a towel, then crouching next to his friend, lifting up his shirt to get a better look at the injury. He pressed the towel to the wound, watching as the white cloth bloomed with red. "Hold the towel right there, I'll be right back," he commanded, rushing back to his room, and returning with a black bag. He opened it to reveal an assortment of medical supplies, stolen from the hospital most likely. The way shit got around here, it was always good to be ready to sew someone up.

"So uh, what the fuck happened?" Apollo asked while he got to work cleaning the wound. He handed Dio a maximum strength Ibuprofen, the closest thing to godly painkillers he could find. Any urgency he'd once had was gone, now that the bleeding had been gotten under control. Dio wasn't anywhere near death, but Apollo had just cleaned these floors in anticipation of tonight. No blood on the floor was a major accomplisment as far as he was concerned. He knew a stab wound when he saw one, and he had to say, while it wasn't uncommon for one of his friends to get stabbed, it was almost always a damn good story.

Dio coughed in a poor imitation of a laugh as he winced in pain from the stab wound. "Unfortionately this wont be the best story I've ever told, but talking will distract me a bit. I had been drinking at that one bar downtown, the one with way to much blue paint everywhere. After a few drinks I feel the need to 'eject' my breakfast, so I head out back. After I handle my business this kid comes up to me and tries to take my effects. After a bit of arguing I give him back his knife and he runs off. Told you, lame story"

The sun god chuckled. That poor kid had probably thought he had an easy job that night. No clue he was mugging a fallen god. "It's certainly not the worst one I've heard."

As Apollo worked Dio was reminded of something similar to this situation that had happened more than a millenia ago. "Do you remember when I showed up at your palace on Olympus with a broken spear in my chest. Just like now you only started asking questions until after I was stabilized, something I'm not sure many of the others would do. I wish ... Thank you." What Dio almost said aloud would have betrayed more of himself than he ever wanted another to know. "Hephaestus also never asked too many questions. When I needed help he asked when not why, especially when I needed to get away from the others and their politics." At this point Dio was beginning to ramble thanks to the mix of alcohal, painkillers, and other substances the Federal Government heavily dissaproved of.

"I just want to see them again. Hephaestus, Ariadne...they deserved to live. Why did they die, but I'm alive? What did I do to deserve this?"

Apollo pursed his lips, carefully choosing his next words. He wasn't a stranger to grief. Many times he'd sat with one of his siblings and helped them mourn a loss. After all, healing wasn't exclusive to the body."That is Hephaestus alright. Not much for words but..." Apollo couldn't pretend like he and Hephaestus had been lifelong friends. Hera's son, his older brother if you wanted to get technical, had seen him as a usurper more often than not. He was treated to the affections of Zeus that Ares and the smith never recieved. It had been bound to cause jealousy. But still, when the twins needed weapons, Hephaestus forged them the finest bows, gifts beyond compare.

"We'll find who did this Dio. Knowing our family, they're out combing the streets as we speak." He couldn't prove it, but it didn't matter. A couple millenia with the same people, you start to realize that their first step is usually revenge. Not that he could blame them. If it had been Arty's name the Morrigan had called out at that Conclave, he definitely wouldn't be cleaning his room.

Dio couldn't help but roll his eyes when Apollo told him of their family's actions, "Of course they are looking for the killer, but they are probably all trying to screw each other over atthe same time. When has our family been able to have a simple converstion, let alone solve a murder?" A harsh anger tainted Dio's words, but he wasn't angry at his family. He was angry with himslef more thananything else. Dio hated that he knew that even if they weren't accomplishing much, they were doing more than him. He hated that he fell right back into his normal habits. He hated that he had tried to forget what was happening by drinking his sorrows away.

Mere seconds after being filled with rage he felt it all disipate, leaving him feeling empty. His anger just highlighted the fact he had no idea how to help no matter how much he wanted. "I...just don't know what to do. I haven't known what to do since Ariadne died. I feel so....lost."

The despair was familiar. Apollo had seen it take hold of many gods since the Fall, himself included. Immortality hardly bred happiness. He glanced up, brown eyes meeting Dionysus' gaze, delving into the darkness. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't think any of us know what to do," Apollo said. He glanced back down at Dio's wound, bringing up a needle so that he could stitch it shut. Godly regeneration would take care of the internal injuries, but the stitches would keep it from opening again too soon.

"The sun always rises," he said, eyes trained on his hands now, nimble fingers steady as he tried his best to minimize Dio's pain. "Even when it seems like it won't." Artemis had said that to him, once, long ago, in a tavern lost to the sands of time. He wasn't sure they'd have the same effect on his friend, but he could hope. "If I've learned anything down here, it's that there's never a perfect path. You just, do the best you can."

Dio could feel the pain in his side fade slightly as the Ibuprofen began to set in. He peered down at the the sun god working away at his wound and weakly smiled at him. "You are starting to sound old and wise, have I really been left that far behind?" Though he didn't completely show it he understood his cousin's words, and knew Apollo was right. Dio has a mission, and he can no longer put it off. "Thank you cousin. Even more than a thousand years trapped on earth cannot dim your light."

"Woah woah woah. Arty is old and wise, I'm young and clever," Apollo said, punctuating his jest with that dazzling grin he wore so well. He stood up, finished repairing Dio's side, and clapped his cousin on the shoulder. "Speaking of, if you really want to play detective, I'm sure Artemis is well on her way. I'm sure if you bug her enough she'll be happy for the help." Happy might've been a bit of an overstatement, but he knew Arty wouldn't rest until she had some answers, and with a god killer out there, it would give him some peace of mind to know someone was helping her. Not that she ever really needed it, her and her insistence on independence.

"I just hope she caves in to letting me help before an arrow or two is stuck in me. I would hate to make you fix me up twice in one week." Dio knew that Artemis had little patience for fools, and he knew he was prone to act a fool on occasion. On the other hand it was a way for Dio to help. "Maybe she will at least let me in the loop if I can't actively help her. Does your sister still hide out in her mountain stronghold like some billionare doomsday prepper?"

"That's the one," Apollo said. "Just, y'know, buzz in at the front gate, and try not to look threatening. Nine times outta ten, they call her down." His sister's rule about boys was a nuisance, but it was a nuisance he was forced to work around. Plus, he didn't want to be pulling an arrow out of Dio anymore than he did. Smiling, he clappped a hand on Dio's shoulder, looking him in the eyes as he delivered his next words. "Hang in there man."

Dio nodded to his friend and slowly stood up from the chair. Before he attempted to move any further he let his body become accostemed to it's new weakness. "Thanks again Apollo, I'm really glad you were here to stitch me back up. Would have hated to bleed all over the place." Dio looked around and could tell the Acropolis had been cleaned up quite a bit more than usual. "Especially after you made it looks so nice. Well I better head out, I apparently have a murderer to catch."

Dio made sure to avoid making any sudden movements as he walked back into the hallway he had previously stumbled through. As he reached the door Dio felt his phone vibrate and pulled it out of his pocket. Other than being on 7% it appears no emergencies had happened during his "incident". One notification though caught his eye and curiosity made him tap on it. After reading his screen Dio would have chuckled if he could have without hurting himself. "Well looks like I shouldn't go too far... and you shouldn't have cleaned so much." As he finished his sentence the amused god tossed his phone back towards Apollo. On that phone was the latest post from Jackson Drake's Instagram.

Apollo pursed his lips, torn between a love of amazing sex and great parties. It seemed like tonight might be a double feature. "Well, that's what I get for trying to make this place presentable." He shrugged. Eros was gonna have to watch him do a keg stand sooner or later.
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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by Legion02
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Legion02

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Hel
Acropolis Party
Goddess Of Helheim

The base was thumping, even though Hel could barely hear the music. But that base, she could feel it in her stomach and it made her blood course faster. She stood against a wall away from what appeared to have been dubbed the main dancefloor. For the first time, she realized dancing had evolved. From something you did together, to something you did alone or with two. Seeing those kids dance, smile, sweat, and sing along the songs made the corner of her own lips rise a little bit. Sometimes she wished she could dance like that. Hathor had taught her some moves but now she felt almost ashamed of her manners back at the Jade Jaguar. Even though it was just her and the Egyptian goddess.

“A drink?” One guy almost yelled in an effort to rise above the volume. Which pulled Hel from her own thoughts. He looked nice enough. A bit older than most, but still pretty young. With a nice smile and the same golden hair as Baldr. He was holding out a red cup. Probably filled with beer.

”No thanks.” Hel quickly refused him with a handwave.

The youth was insistent though. He came standing next to her, with his back against the wall. Looking at the dance floor. “So why are you here?” He asked over the loud music.

Hel assumed he was referring to how she was dressed. Assuming she was just someone’s older sister who was supposed to be somewhere else tonight but somehow got trapped here. Well, she cast a quick glance at Hebe and Coco to make sure they were safe, before she said: ”To do my duty.” With those words she pulled away from the wall and walked towards the stairwell. To where she heard that soft whisper calling her. She had tarried for too long and indulged in her own curiosities too much already.

The roof wasn’t entirely abandoned. A few chairs were scattered around. Some people were just talking without having to raise their voice. Other circles seemed to have been abandoned. A rather cold breeze was blowing over the roof. Or so Hel assumed, as quite a few people looked like they were shivering a bit up here.

Hel ignored most and walked towards someone who was sitting on the ledge on the ledge of the building. Wrapped in a blanket. Her legs dangling off the side of a building. Looking out into the city as well. Or so it looked. Hel knew what being forlorn looked like. Like mist, she floated over the roof until she reached the girl. ”You mind if I join you?”

The girl for her part only looked up. Underneath the blanket, the blonde looked like a party girl. Quite akin to Hebe, Hel thought. Only with blonde hair and perhaps a more revealing outfit. “Sure.” She said with a small voice before she looked out into the city again. She had a red cup between her legs and was fidgeting with tarot cards in her hands.

Hel did so and joined the blonde in looking out over the city. She couldn’t see it, but the graveyard was in that direction. Hidden by houses and tall buildings. For quite a while they were both quiet. Just looking, listening to the thumping bass below them or the police sirens echoing from a distance. From here, the streets were bathed in the golden street light. People moved like ants. The party was certainly garnering quite a crowd. Yet the blonde remained upstairs. Alone with Hel.

“You waiting for someone?” The goddess finally asked.

“No. Not really.” The girl answered. Never taking her eyes off that far off point she wasn’t really looking at. “I’m sorry. You probably came up to have a smoke or something. I’m alright. Really. I just…like it here. You don’t have to stay here to make me feel better.”

”You tried to talk to your sister today, didn’t you?” Hel said, never looking away from Seattle’s skyline. It would be easier for the girl.

The blonde next to her just let out a chuckle. “I mean… yeah. She texted me about this party. It’s stupid really. She thought it would cheer me up.” She took a sip from the red cup. It didn’t smell like beer or mead. Hel could see that much.

”Not your older sister.” Hel noted, looking sideways now at the girl. ”Your younger one. Elise.”

Quite instantly a frown formed over the girl’s eyes. She even shot up. “W-Wha… how do you know!? Are you stalking me?” She sounded incensed. Even violated. The goddess knew her eyes would be burning on her. Though she didn’t turn around to look the girl back in the eyes. “Fuck you.” With those words, she started to stomp away.

”She said she’s sorry about Derrek.” Hel said, still looking over the city. She was used to anger. To hate. To sadness. People felt a thousand and one things when they died. Rarely was it good. There was nothing she could do but take the punches and shrug them off later. For now though, she just wanted to help Elise and her sister. ”She said she’s sorry that she kissed him and she still love you very, very much.”

“How did you-“

”Know about the kiss? Elise told me.”

“You can talk to the dead?” the blonde said, scoffing as she stood with her arms folded towards Hel. But the goddess could hear that faint glimmer of doubt. The girl wrapped in her blanket believed in something. Now she just had to end up believing in Hel.

”I can. And I bet you’ll want me to prove it. I will if you want me to.” Hel turned to look at the mortal. Her icy eyes looking straight through her. ”But I’ll warn you. Calling on the dead is not a light matter. If you want to call upon someone, do it with respect.”

The girl seemed to be weighing her options. She looked back, at the door. There was a party going downstairs and here she was. Talking to a crazy woman dressed like she was going to some high-class ball. Yet Hel could see the hope in her eyes. She bit her lip and stepped back towards the edge of the roof where Hel was still sitting. “Alright…could you-“ There was doubt in her eyes, and no small amount of fear but also yearning and hope.

Hel took her hands as she got up to stand in front of the girl. “It’s okay.” She said with a soft voice. “Who do you want to talk to?”

“My sister… Elise.”

Hel just nodded faintly, then closed her eyes. It wasn’t so hard to find the recently deceased girl. She was so young. So beautiful. ‘Your sister wants to talk to you.’ Hel let echo in her thoughts.

‘You found her!?’ The goddess could feel the excitement in the ghost girl’s voice. ‘This is amazing! Thank you! Thank you so much! My sister…could you ask her if she’s still going after Jackson?’

”Are you still going after Jackson?” Hel asked out loud, suppressing a light chuckle.

She couldn’t see it, but the blonde whose hands she held was blushing fiercely all of a sudden. “What! No! Is she asking that!?” And so the banter between the dead and living continued, with Hel as a conduit. Somewhere during the improved séance, she opened her eyes again and saw true belief in the blonde called Amber’s eyes. The sisters talked about many heartfelt things. Love. Studies. The future. Even though they couldn’t hear each other, they shared laugh after laugh.

But after about fifteen minutes, Hel gently squeezed Amber’s hands. ”It’s time to say goodbye.” Hel said. ”I can’t hold Elise for much longer.”

Amber nodded and said her goodbyes and then Hel released her hands. The blonde broke into a sob as she whipped away a tear. From each eye. Smushing her mascara. “I’m sorry.” She said, even though she was still smiling. “I just…she died so suddenly. I never got a chance to say goodbye and…I miss her so much.” The sobbing didn’t stop. It only increased.

Hel didn’t want to hug the girl. For obvious reasons. Instead, she just offered a comforting smile to the girl. Both of them returned to sit on the edge of the building. Amber kept talking about her sister. About the things they did. Their fights and how they always hugged it out after. The less Hel said, the more the girl spoke but the goddess took it all in. Letting Amber just talk and vent. Though eventually, the conversation began to stall again. Both of them were again looking out into the city. Though this time Amber looked significantly less somber.

“Do you have siblings?” Amber then suddenly asked.

It caught Hel off guard. “I… do.” Visions of Fenrir shot through her head, from the few photos she had seen. They still hung over her bed. Those old, already fading polaroid’s. Next to more recent pictures of her father.

Amber must’ve sensed something was off. “You don’t see them often?”

Hel just stayed quiet for a while. Her stomach turned inside out as her heart ached. How did Jorm look these days? What was he doing? Did he read her letter? Would he send one in return? What kind of sister didn’t even know what her brother looked like? She missed them. So much. ”No…” She finally said softly. Trying to swallow the tears that were pooling under her eyes. ”Not as often as I would wish.” She finally admitted. But then gently wiped the tears out of her eyes. “It’s…complicated.” If she ever got close to her family, Ragnarök could be unleashed. Complicated felt like an understatement.

“I didn’t see my sister a whole lot either,” Amber admitted. “We used to play together every day. But as we grew older she and I grew apart. Then the fighting started. And then we both went away to college. If I had known she would die so soon, I would Facetimed every day with her.” The girl pulled her knees up to her chin, but a small smile was conjured on her lips. “I’m happy I got to talk to her one more time.”

The two of them remained on the edge roof, together, for a bit longer. Hel fully expected Amber to leave sooner rather than later. She was still dressed for the party and the goddess couldn’t imagine her wanting to stay up on the roof for much longer. Such was the way with people. They moved on. Hel, for her part, was happy to have fulfilled her duty for the night and just look into Seattle night. If Hebe or Comus wanted to go home they could text her. Or they’d find her up here. Which was doubtful, but still.

Sunken in her own thoughts, Hel didn’t even realize Amber was suddenly standing up beside Hel with an outstretched hand and a big smile on her face. “Let’s go to the party.”

The goddess shook her head. ”It’s quite alright. You go down and have fun.” She would stay upstairs where she belonged. Away from the laughter and the smiles and happiness. She was always told to stay away from such things.

There was, for a split second, an intense battle going on between their two stares. Gauging just how stubborn the other person was. “Well…okay.” Amber said eventually, sounding quite defeated. “Just… find me when you’re coming downstairs! I’ll make you an amazing cocktail!” And then she had her arms around Hel. The goddess barely knew what happened before Amber was bending down and pressing herself against her. As a reaction, she reached with her arms around but was in time to stop her. She couldn’t embrace Amber. No matter how badly she wanted to. Slowly she pulled her arms away again and Amber released her.

The blonde vanished down the stairs. Hel realized she was genuinely all alone on the roof and then her mind carried her thoughts away upon raven wings towards the abyss. Towards Jorm. And Fen. And her father. How she missed them. How she just wanted to be with them. And hug them! Hug everyone! Her lip trembled as she felt her sorrow pool under her eyes again. Now, alone, she couldn’t fight it anymore as the first tear fell. A sob shook her body as she tried to suppress that dreadful, all-consuming feeling. But she missed them. She wanted to see them. ”I’m sorry.” She whimpered softly. “I’m so sorry. I can’t. I really can’t.” She spoke the words as if they could hear them.
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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by Venus
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Venus Save a horse, ride a cowboy. -Melissa

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a mother always knows

A @Venus & @smarty0114 Collaboration
Featuring Themis & Hera




Themis.

To this day, the name filled Hera with envy. Zeus’ first counsellor, the Goddess of Divine Justice, who never seemed to see that it was Hera who deserved justice most of all. Now, her son was dead, and as far as she was aware, the Titan goddess hadn’t raised a finger. It disgusted her, the shirking of responsibility. If anyone should be concerned with the murder of a god-- a Grecian, at that-- it should be the Mistress of the Scales.

Night had fallen by the time Hera pulled up to Themis’ home, a humble apartment in the suburbs of Seattle. It was hardly quaint to anyone except Hera, but the Queen of the Gods always found some way to look down on her fellow Olympians. Her face was steel, cold and unyielding as she stepped from her car and strutted up the stairs to rap her hand against the wooden door. Her visit was unannounced, but the possibility that no one would be home hadn’t crossed her mind. Hera was used to a world where people answered her demands and were available whenever she needed. She rarely had time to think about the needs of others.

After spending most of the day between the sheets of Themis’ bed and watching movies together, Thor had excused himself after getting an emergency work call from a client, leaving his girlfriend to her own devices. The man’s cheerful presence had been enough to ward off that dreadful nausea that always seemed to bother her these days, but in his absence it returned with a vengeance. Whatever plans that she had of going out for a walk or even going to the quaint little coffee shop nearby to catch up with her work email flew out the window. Instead, Themis found herself bedridden once again, with a bottle of ginger ale on her nightstand and a bucket at the ready next to her convalescent figure.

By the time evening rolled around, Themis had mustered just enough strength to eat an acceptable amount of dinner and get a shower. Dressed in a matching short nightgown and robe set of navy blue and white lace, the young goddess had been getting ready to retreat for the night when she heard a knock on her door. Frowning, she walked the short trek to the entryway and took a look through the peephole at who on Earth would possibly be dropping by at this time of day. And when she saw who it was, her disbelief was strong enough for the blonde to unlock the door and swing it open.

“Hera?” Themis exclaimed with her hand still on the door handle, momentarily forgetting her illness in favor of the utter shock now coursing through her body. Out of all the gods and goddesses she would expect for a visit, Zeus’ wife was definitely at the bottom of the list. The Queen of the Gods had never held any positive feelings towards her, and it was obvious she and Themis were cordial with each other at most whenever forced to interact. Hera showing up at her doorstep-- and at this time of day, no less-- was certainly not the best of omens to start off her evening. “What are you doing at my house?”

Hera’s gaze trailed up and down Themis’ body, taking in this new look for the lady of divine justice. There was something in the air… what was it? A scent she couldn’t quite place, a fleeting feeling that felt so familiar… She’d clearly caught her in the midst of her nighttime routine. Perfect. Catching people off guard was a specialty of Hera’s. “I’m here to discuss your shirking of responsibilities,” Hera said, cold as ever. “Should we talk out here, or will I be graced with the interior of your home as well?” Hera’s confidence (or arrogance, depending on who you asked) had returned in full force, spurred on by her mission for vengeance. It was clear that she would be having this discussion, whether Themis liked it or not.

The tone of voice Hera was taking with her made Themis raise a haughty, defiant eyebrow towards the older woman. It was one thing to show up at her house unannounced, but quite a different one to turn up making accusations of neglect. It was rude, disrespectful and definitely not the way to gain entrance to somebody’s home. But the way Hera was carrying herself spoke of a fierce determination of someone who wouldn’t vacate the premises until she was heard… In the end, did Themis really have a choice?

Without uttering a single word, she swung the door open and stepped aside, motioning for her unwelcome guest to step inside. Once Hera had entered the apartment, the blonde closed the door, and turned to her visitor with her arms crossed in front of her chest. “So. To what do I owe the honor and great pleasure of being graced with your unannounced presence? And at my home in the evening, no less,” Themis began, the sarcasm ringing clear in her voice. She took position in front of where Hera stood, squaring her shoulders and never once taking her eyes away from hers. She wasn’t afraid or the least bit intimidated by the woman like the rest of the Olympians were.

“I take it you’ve heard about my son,” Hera said. She cast her eyes down for just a moment at the mention of Hephaestus, a rare flash of weakness, gone as quickly as it had come. “I’m sure the mortals are throwing everything they can at it, given his celebrity status, but it would bring me peace of mind to know I had someone on the inside.” Still, that feeling was following her, a tugging in her gut. Could she… No... Her senses were just on the fritz, still reeling from her time under Hathor’s trance. That had to be it.

Well that made Themis feel like shit. Where was that patience and sympathy she normally had for the loved ones of homicide victims? Here was the queen of the gods: swallowing her pride to seek her assistance with one of the most horrific events a mother could ever face; a collateral victim of her son’s murder. And what had Themis done? Get defensive and jump to conclusions when Hera, Zeus and the rest of their children deserved truth and justice as much as the departed did. Shame on her.

With her demeanor now humbled and much more approachable, Themis took a seat on the beige sofa in the living room and gestured for her guest to occupy the chair directly in front of her if she so wished. “I’m aware of the situation… And let me take this moment to say I am so, so sorry for your loss. I can’t even fathom the amount of pain and heartbreak you must be feeling at this time,” the blonde said gently with a solemn expression. She was and had never been a mother, but could only imagine the suffering Hera must be going through. “Before we get to discussing the case any further, can I get you anything to eat or drink for your troubles?”

Hera nodded, solemn in her grief. “I appreciate it,” Hera said, her tone still cool despite Themis’ moment of warmth. In truth, the words meant more than she could say. So many had brushed her pain aside, it was comforting to have someone who sympathized. “A glass of wine?” Hera suggested, exhaustion lacing her words with a sense of exasperation. She was spiralling, no matter how gilded she made herself seem.

"Sure!” Themis replied in a significantly brighter tone, rising from the couch and gracefully making her way to the cozy kitchen to fetch some refreshments for her guest. She pulled out two glasses of wine and a small wooden cheese board from one of the cabinets before moving towards the wine cooler and addressing Hera again. "Is there any particular flavor you prefer?” the blonde asked, pausing to smile at one of the many polaroids of her and Thor that decorated the refrigerator door before peering inside the cooler. "I’ve got most of them here, actually: sauvignon, moscato, pinot noir, cabernet, merlot… Pick your poison.”

“Sauvignon,” Hera said, following Themis into the kitchen. Her voice trailed off as her attention fell on the polaroids hanging off the fridge. Themis and a man, smiling, arms wrapped around each other in a loving embrace. Suddenly, the gears, rusted still with pain and mourning, began turning again. The tugging in her gut, the feeling in the air. How could she have been so blind? Had grief addled her that much?

Without warning, Hera spun Themis around, and brought a hand down to hover, just above her stomach. Her eyes closed, and she reached out, extending the tendrils of her immortal soul outwards until she found what she was looking for; the beginnings of a new life. Two, in fact. Hera’s eyes shot open, lips pursed together in curiosity. “You’re pregnant,” she said, the softest she’d ever been with the mistress of justice.

Themis, who had been in the process of uncorking the sauvignon bottle per Hera’s request, flinched in startelement when she felt the older woman spin her around. Eyes wide with alarm, she watched as her guest placed her hand a few inches from her stomach and shut her eyes, as if focusing all of her attention. She’d been ready to politely pull away and dismiss Hera as having gone insane with grief when the woman opened her eyes again and dropped a bombshell so unexpected all Themis could do was giggle in disbelief.

"What? No!" she answered without hesitation, shaking her head with a smile and quickly dismissing Hera’s reading. "I mean, sure: I've been a little bit sick for some time now, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m pregnant… Right?” she asked her, doubt starting to creep in and casting a shadow over her face. Was she really pregnant? Was that why she’d been so sick all the time lately. No, it couldn’t be. “It’s probably undiagnosed lactose intolerance or something. Maybe the milk and creamer I put in my coffee’s messing with me.”

Hera shook her head, stone faced and confident in her read. Now that she’d pinned down what she was sensing, she couldn’t believe she’d been so foolish. “Themis, a mother always knows.” She reached out again, once more connecting to the lives that were just forming, two possibilities awash in the sea of fate. “Twins but… only half-siblings. Their fathers are different,” Hera said, fixing Themis with a stare that held it’s fair share of judgement.

If Hera’s soft demeanor and the possibility of being pregnant wasn’t enough of a shock for the blonde goddess, the news that the growing children, plural, inside of her had been fathered by different men left her at a loss for words. Themis was quiet for a long moment, eyes wide as she tried to process all of this information at once. And when she was finally able to formulate words again, her voice was hoarse with distress.

“If the fathers are different, that means one child is Thor’s, and the other one is--” she trailed off, feeling her eyes slowly fill up with tears while her bottom lip dangerously trembled. There was only one other person who could have donated his part of the DNA to make that second child... And that man just happened to be her boyfriend’s father. “Odin's.”

Fuck...

All of a sudden, an overwhelming wave of dizziness suddenly overtook her. Themis’ knees felt weak, her legs seemingly unable to carry both the weight of her body and the one who now rested on her shoulders. The world around her began to spin, morphing together into indiscernible shapes. She reached out and grabbed the countertop to steady herself, but the smooth surface slipped under her touch. The last thing she remembered was the sound of Hera's voice asking if she was okay before her eyelids fluttered closed as she began to fall.

Hera moved with a surprising grace and agility, hands closing behind Themis back, catching her before she could crash against the tile floor. Gently, like she was handling one of her own children, she led Themis to the couch, and left her sitting there, only to return with a glass of water.

The tables had been flipped. She’d come here for Themis’ help, only to find that it was Themis who needed her aid. She pursed her lips, carefully choosing her new path. She took an armchair across from the couch, resting her arms on the sides as if it were a throne. “It seems we both have reason to help each other now...” she said, her voice soft, but certain, purposeful.

The voice of a queen.
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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by fledermaus
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fledermaus 【INUYASHA!】

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betrayal, a dish best served filleted
𝓟𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓪𝓭𝓮 𝓡𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓽 8:00 PM
MOOD: ɢᴜᴛ ᴡʀᴇɴᴄʜɪɴɢ.



A seafood restaurant. Okay. August must be—no, Jupiter must be in a good mood. The news would come smooth like their salmon, and the honesty would come appreciated.

Yeah.

Right. So, why did he stand stuck between the folds of his ragged leather seats picking away at the Target brand button up that smothered his neck and wrists. October chill should have shocked his bones, yet Poseidon felt the sweat build at the back of his nape. The bottle of Xanax sat in the passenger seat, mourned for its valiant sacrifice. Unfortunately, that sacrifice had been made two days earlier to which Poseidon lamented the pangs of anxiety suffocating him now.

Just get out and go in. Just get out and go in. Poseidon gripped his steering wheel. Squeezing his eyes shut, Poseidon felt a rush soar through him. He seized that surge and bolted out of his tiny car. Cold air blasted the heat of his face, it worked to send him into a shock so much that the anxiety just barely faded from his mind.

Before he knew it, Poseidon stood at the designated table, chest puffing as he stared at Augu—Jupiter. He stood there, staring at the man with his heart in his ears and the background sound falling away to the constant huff of his breathing. Then, in that instance his breath vanished as it did every single time. Despite the sizzling anger that radiated off him, Poseidon felt the tug of heat rising in his chest to grip his heart and slam it against its cage.

Then he swallowed it down because the both of them agreed, silently perhaps, that this was just something fun for them. Stress relief. An escape. Though, he could laugh now knowing that escape would soon vanish as he seated himself across from the Roman king.

”I’m actually Poseidon.” He blurted out. What he wanted to say was ‘Hello, how are you? How has your day been? You look like you’re about to decapitate someone with your bare hands.’ Instead, Poseidon sat there with his eyes wide and his hands barely hovering over the table, frozen in the lake of his own idiocy.

”I-I mean, I, uh… you’re… and I’m—you…” Poseidon fizzled out, staring in dejection at the man in front of him, shoulders slouched and a pinch to his face that he couldn’t shake off.

Mannerisms that Jupiter once found endearing on Peter - the cute way he stutters, the hesitancy, the impulsivity - he can only now see it with a thin veil of annoyance. All that endearment was a bandaid hiding the nasty gash beneath it and now Jupiter can only feel the sting of it being ripped off. A small gnat of a voice in the back of his head told him that at least Poseidon was being honest with him now, that he came clean right away. Then there was a growling beast, fat on paranoia, that whispered to him that Poseidon only told him because he had to, that all of this has been a charade. In the end, it doesn’t matter really what Poseidon’s intentions are. Jupiter knows his own intentions and that’s all there is to it.

Jupiter removes a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolds it primly before sliding it across the table. It’s the picture Mars had so thoughtfully shown him earlier at the meeting with his brothers, an image of Poseidon vomiting on his brother. “I’m well aware who you are, Poseidon.”

He wants to end it right there, tell Poseidon that it’s over and to not contact him again, but it is a dinner meeting. Jupiter should at least be polite enough to pay for their meals one last time.

A waiter stops by poised with his pad and pen. Jupiter’s menu is promptly closed and he says, “I’ll be having the halibut and bring a bottle of your most expensive blend. Order whatever seems appealing, Peter.”

Poseidon blinked, trying to process the information provided in Jupiter’s curt answer. That shifting cold seemed impenetrable from Poseidon’s vantage point. He had to wonder why, though the way Jupiter reacted seemed to indicate that it was likely the whole Poseidon thing that had him miffed. More than miffed. Miffed didn’t seem the appropriate term for how the heat that wafted off Jupiter’s skin.

That heat belied a coldness to Jupiter’s words and Poseidon frowned as he looked down at the menu. ”I think I’ll just take some salmon and could I get just a… you know what, surprise me. Nothing too expensive,” Poseidon said, quiet as his eyes continued to flicker upwards toward Jupiter. He immediately handed the menu to let the server walk off.

Silence hung between them, Poseidon’s eyes shifting everywhere but Jupiter before finally landing back onto him. ”I… didn’t tell you and I’m sorry,” Poseidon said, pinching his brows before frowning and looking down at his hands on the table. They were calloused like his soul had been, like he’d dragged them for years against sharp gravel until the skin grew over itself, hardened and scarred.

”I’m ashamed of what I’d done as a god. You can tote your kingly glory, find pride in a nation you built from the ground up,” he continued, knowing he’d revealed that he knew who Jupiter was, or at least that he was Roman, ”I hurt people for greed, for power, for vengeance. Simply because I wanted something someone else had. The seas rose and the earths quaked because I commanded them to; because my anger allowed me to take that emotion and destroy whole swaths of my people.”

Poseidon looked toward Jupiter, knowing he likely wouldn’t find the face of someone sympathetic to his plight. He both wanted Jupiter’s condemnation and contempt, as well as his compassion and love. To deserve either of those things, however, Poseidon had to actually matter to the man beyond an obstacle in his way.

Something at the back of his mind gnawed at him, told him this was the last he’d see of the magnificent man he’d known. But, to come to grips with that would be to submit to reality and Poseidon just wanted to grasp one hopeful wisp of their relationship. He wanted to salvage what could possibly be unrepairable.

When the server came back with a glass of red wine, Poseidon smiled and told her, ”Could I get just one more bottle of this, please?” he smiled and when she nodded he gave her a sincere, ”Thank you.” And then he unscrewed the cork, poured himself a full wine glass, and dunked it. Then three more. Four. No, he’d stop at five glasses. It wouldn’t hit him until he stood, he knew that, but he was determined not to stand for quite awhile now. Not until Jupiter physically scooped him up from his seat. He just wanted… Poseidon didn’t want to bring voice to what he wanted.

”Do you hate me?” Poseidon asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His face pinched into worry, something he tried his damnedest to hide but failed miserably. ”Do you—do you want to ask me questions? I’ll answer them. Honest. What’s that saying the one in latin about… truth and alcohol?”

Jupiter neglected to answer Poseidon’s first question, hesitant to give a definitive answer on his feelings towards the other god. Jupiter hates all Greeks, is the easy answer, and it was on the tip of his tongue, but it felt like gravel in his mouth. Jupiter isn’t a liar; Jupiter used to hate all Greeks. Now, it seems, he tolerates more than just one Greek. How did he sink so low to allow himself to lay with a degenerate?

In vino veritas. Jupiter responded, mulling over his wine. He reached over and poured Poseidon another glass of wine. If he indeed wanted to convince Jupiter that the wine has loosened his lips, he’d have to drown in his alcohol first. A measly couple of wines wouldn’t undo what the god of the sea has done. “In wine lies the truth.”

There are a lot of questions he could ask, he even made a mental list on his way here. Now, in Poseidon’s presence, there’s only one that is seared in his mind’s eye.

“What was your intention?” Jupiter sips his wine, voice even as his eyes smolder like coals on fire, “To make a fool of me? To spy on the Romans? I–”

Trusted you? It’s a tough pill for Jupiter to swallow, because in a way, Jupiter had let Poseidon in. Poseidon – no, Peter – was a comfort to him, a silly little human who didn’t need to worry about the god matters. A human that Jupiter didn’t have to worry about being betrayed by; all gods are snakes, they all have their agenda. Poseidon wouldn’t be the first god to get under Jupiter’s skin, but he will be the last.

Wait, what? Poseidon stopped mid drink and stared at Jupiter. Why would he want to make a fool of him? Intentions other than what? Confusion fell upon Poseidon to the point he truly did feel the need to drown himself in wine. Forgoing the glass the second he emptied it, Poseidon dunked the entirety of the bottle given to, ignoring any sense of decorum. At this point, caring about what other people thought of him felt idiotic.

The sight of Poseidon downing an entire bottle of wine took the server by surprise the second she’d brought him another bottle. She faltered, but remained straight laced and professional as she placed it down beside him. After a nod, she left and Poseidon resumed his attempt at getting absolutely smashed; he didn’t want to remember this night, didn’t want the hurt of it to wash over him in the morning. If the alcohol couldn’t make him forget, then the hangover would.

”What was my intention?” Poseidon grinned, struggling to release the cork from the bottle neck. He grunted, but flashed the lopsided grin at Jupiter. ”My intentions had nothing to do with you, actually. I had no fucking clue who you were, to be honest. It was purely for selfish reasons: I liked you, I really fucking liked you, and I wanted to get lost in that. I wanted to forget all the bullshit that came with being a god, with being Grecian no less. I messed up, I messed up so much. Ow… fu-fuck. Ahh…”

A hiss left him, feeling his hand seize up. The wine bottle slipped, colliding with his chair and then smashing against the ground. Poseidon immediately fell to clean it up, holding his stiffened arm away from him as he grabbed the table cloth napkin and started padding the spillage. ”I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he repeated under his breath as a waiter came to assist him. With dust pan in hand, she gentle nudged Poseidon away.

”Is your arm okay sir?” she asked, eyes wide as she stared at him.

Poseidon had his other hand in his face, leaning against the off kilter chair with his knees. He’s not gonna cry. He’s not gonna fucking cry. ”Yeah, it’s un… mmnnn, it’s unrelated. I’m sorry. I’ll pay for it. I, uh, fuck,” Poseidon sighed, dejected and certain that if he hadn’t made a fool of Jupiter already, then he certainly had now. If he didn’t think too hard, didn’t look too hard he could stop the spinning and clear the fog that settled on the storm in his mind. He pressed his head to the chair and did his best to slide back up it, wincing at the pain that surged through his left hand.

”I’m just a hack. I’m the only fool here. I thought you’d know that by now,” Poseidon hissed in pain again, wanting nothing more than to leave and drown himself in his bedsheets. The alcohol already slammed into him, though, and he’d been lucky getting back into his chair without collapsing in on himself. Maybe it wasn’t the alcohol or maybe it was combined with being on the verge of a total panic attack.

“Pos– Peter,” Jupiter started, surging forward to help him into his seat. The sight of Poseidon was unfamiliar. Sure, Jupiter was no stranger to drunk sloppy mortals, maybe even some immortals, but he never expected this from his Peter. No, not his. Just Peter. Poseidon.

Unbidden and unwelcomed, concern welled up into his stomach. The way Poseidon favored his arm reminded him of long nights when his mysterious pain flared up. Poseidon, then Peter, always dodged questions on how he hurt his arm and Jupiter let it happen; mortals hurt themselves in so many ways, it didn’t really matter to him how it happened but that it happened. Now, though, Jupiter felt his hackles rise with a sneaking suspicion. How did Poseidon hurt his arm, if he was a god? Jupiter couldn’t ask in the middle of the restaurant, especially with a waitress glaring at him from her spot on the floor.

“I’ll send someone to get our meals.” Jupiter said to the woman, throwing a couple hundreds on the table. God forbid he leave his halibut; he was hungry, god damn it. “The extra is tip.”

With strong hands, Jupiter hefted Poseidon up and slung an arm around his shoulder. Poseidon could drink himself into a stupor, but he wasn’t off the hook yet. Jupiter frowned as he thought back on Poseidon’s words. He would further interrogate him on the drive to Poseidon’s apartment – in wine there is truth. Poseidon was on the precipice of something, Jupiter could tell he was balancing on a tightrope and one wrong word from Jupiter will send him falling, but Jupiter had no intention of holding back. He would ask what he wanted and if Poseidon shattered, well, he’d deal with that later.

“I’m going to take you home.” Jupiter told Poseidon, his face donning a stoic mask. There was a tight feeling in his chest, feeling something like distress, but Jupiter pushed it down and covered it in a blanket or self-righteous anger. “Can you walk?”

”I don’t wanna go home,” Poseidon said, a hushed slur under his breath. He immediately leaned against Jupiter, staring at him with his face in a slack, pitiful expression. Everything spun and Poseidon could only hold on tight to the man hoisting him up. Knots built in his stomach, roiling the contents inside to a lump in Poseidon’s throat; he wanted desperately to vomit, like his panic bid him to, but the sea god held it in.

Of course everything came crashing down the second he ousted himself as a god. His family wanted to use him, Jupiter lost all trust in him, and he’d thrown up more times in this week alone than he had in his years hiding. To think, the therapy worked for him in so many ways and yet this alone toppled all of that down, foundation and all. It tired him. Made him want to crawl into bed and never leave. Made him want Jupiter more in ways he didn’t quite feel confident enough to voice. A stalwart, unshakeable soul laid deep in Jupiter and that provided a pillar for Poseidon to fall to. Yet, he couldn’t use Jupiter like that, especially not now when they fell aground against the sharp rocks of adversity.

”I can walk—” Poseidon said, trying to step onto both his feet only for his legs to bed unnaturally in his mind. He looked down, aghast, only to find that they were indeed okay. He was alright, for the most part. ”Mm-mm, I can’t walk,” he said, looking up at Jupiter in defeat.

”Ah—ow, fu-uuuck,” Poseidon winced, staring at his arm as he tried flexing it. The stress, the anxiety all of it welled up inside and he pushed it down—or tried to—and it came to bite him fully in the ass. ”Sorry, sorry. I’m okay. I’m okay. Well, no, I’m not okay, but I’ll live… I think.”

“Get the valet to bring my car around.” Jupiter tells the waitress, adjusting his grip around Poseidon’s waist. By the time he has hefted Poseidon to the entrance, his car is parked in front with a nervous valet fiddling with his keys in front of it.

“I, er, may have scratched—” The valet starts.

“I don’t care.” Jupiter interrupts, because in that moment he really doesn’t. A car is so easily replaced with his vast wealth, there is no purpose in redirecting his rage over something so trivial.

Jupiter helps Poseidon into the car, and reaches around him to buckle him up. He can feel Poseidon’s breath on his cheek and if he turned his head just right, he could capture his lips with his own. He won’t, though, not with Poseidon in this state. Not now, that Poseidon’s identity has been revealed. Jupiter sighs before leaning back and shutting the door.

It is only when he is in the driver’s seat, pulling from the driveway of the restaurant, that he begins his interrogation anew. “What were you planning on doing, then? You didn’t know who I was, then how did you find out? What were you going to do with the information?”

Funny how things run so smoothly for so long until one small instance turns it all on its head. Poseidon lamented that fact and wanted nothing more than to throttle himself for ever thinking of coming back from the dead. After all, those that die should stay dead, except for the select few risen from death’s chilling grasp. Maybe he’d thought he was the exception. Seeing the simmering heat wafting off of Jupiter’s face, Poseidon could clearly see that wasn’t the case.

”Mmnn,” Poseidon grumbled, staring up at Jupiter. What a sight and what nice, soft lips to just fall into. Yet, the man pulled away like Poseidon knew he would and now he was staring at him with half-lidded eyes and rose plastered on his cheeks. ”What’d I intend to do with what information? That you’re Jupiter. Iunno, probably freak out about the serendipity—wrong word. Coincid… Coinci…. Coin… the weird not-fate but fate thing. I dunno.”

Drunken stupor washed over him in a lake of sweet tasting wine. Oh, he forgot to eat and just slammed down an entire bottle of alcohol. Why’d he do that? Poseidon turned to look at the man next to him. He sighed. Yeah. That made sense.

”My niece, oh she has a business card, haha, so official,” Poseidon rummaged around in his pocket, body fully sideways in the car seat as his hands retrieved the card. Despite the fact that it had her human name and thus identified her, Poseidon still handed it over. He didn’t exactly know if he’d have done that sober, but he certainly wanted to do so drunk. ”Lookit, she wanted me to call her with information and stuff. I dunno what, prolly if you butter your toast or if you’re the one that murdered my other nephew. You didn’t did you? Would you do the same to me? That’s a stupid question. Prolly, I’m no one special, just a stupid… mmf.

”I jus’ wanna be okay for once. I don’t want any of this feud nonsense. I don’t wanna think about Hephaestus dying. I wanna take back the whole god thing and live in obscurity again. Is that so much to ask? I thought I wanted to be with my family again, to stop being so lonely, but…” Poseidon slumped down in his seat, fingers picking at the buttons of his shirt, ”They just wanna use me. Is that all I’m good for Jupiter?” He tossed a look at the man in question, eyes welling up with a ocean deep sadness, something not even Poseidon wanted to truly acknowledge. Yet, the alcohol coaxed that info out of him, brought it to the surface in admittance, ”Is my worth only in how useful I am to someone? And… and when that’s gone will everyone just leave me?”

Poseidon looked down at himself, at the wrinkled, cheap pants and the now wine stained shirt soaking alcohol into his skin. ”Am I better off dead, Jupiter?” Poseidon said, words so quiet and small that he might as well have kept them in his thoughts. Yet, putting voice to them made the reality of his situation all the more tangible.

All Greeks are better off dead, is what he wants to say. When he opens his mouth, dry as cotton, he says instead, "No, never. Don't—" He clears his throat, and his tone becomes commanding and harsh, "Don't say that again. Just, stop talking."

He never wants to hear Poseidon sound so
broken. It makes hating him that much harder, and loving liking him that much easier. He will never admit that to himself, though. His hands tighten around the wheel and he reminds himself silently that he's talking to Poseidon. Fucking Poseidon. Not broken Peter who melts under his touch and arches against him just right; who curls into him until dawn and feels painfully mortal and fragile.

He thinks about using him, pinning him against his niece. Steels himself to do it, knowing that it is what Janus would do, would want, and would benefit Rome the most. The best way to take down the other pantheons. But then he's pulling up to Poseidon's apartment building, a dingy blot against the city skyline, and he remembers that he's not Janus. Jupiter can't do it, can't use and throw away Poseidon like that. It's not an act befitting a king.

"We're here, Poseidon." He wants to call him Peter, to wait with him until he sobers and then take him with a passion. He wants to throw him out of his car, yell at him for being something Jupiter doesn't want, for being a weakness Jupiter can't afford. "I'll help you to your apartment."

The reflexive flinch that caught Poseidon didn’t happen intentionally, neither did the pounding of his heart at the sudden severity of Jupiter’s tone. Yet, how could he obey that command when it had egged him on this entire week. It hurt to think. He didn’t want that; he wanted Jupiter to cradle him in the strength of his arms and will that pain away.

That wasn’t allowed. He didn’t deserve that. All he could do was feel the cold glass seep into his skin as he stared up at the mediocrity he found himself in. That’s all he deserved. That right there, where his finger pointed at, the dirt and grime that clung to the fabric of the world he squalored in.

”Yeah, yeah, uh…” Poseidon opened the door and nearly toppled over. The seatbelt locked against his chest and he let out a breath. ”I think I need some help,” he said, throwing a look at Jupiter.

Even in the haze of alcohol he could see the steel that lined Jupiter’s jaw and the set of his stoney face crackling to the lightning of bitter rage. It never scared him—until now. Beneath that fear lay a thrill Poseidon never could ramp down. The urge to drink that anger away in sweet, wine filled kisses brought him to the other side of his seat. But, even in a drunken daze he knew this would be a mistake he didn’t want to make, even as his hands gripped the edges of Jupiter’s jacket.

”Don’t hate me, Jupiter,” Poseidon said, soft and hushed with the smell of grapes heavy in the air, ”That… I don’t care what happens to me, just don’t—don’t hate me, please.”

Hate is such a strong word. In actuality, Jupiter doesn’t hate the other pantheons - he finds no use for them. Soon, everywhere will be Rome. There’s no need for them, anymore. All Rome needs is the Roman pantheon and...Poseidon isn’t of the Romans. He isn’t of the Romans, and thus Jupiter should have no use for him. How does Jupiter even begin to explain that to this fractured god? How does he explain that he was born a Greek and Jupiter refuses to let the Greeks rise once more? The only way they will work is if Poseidon turns against his own, and Jupiter cannot fathom him betraying his kin. Not sweet, soft Peter.

So, Jupiter gently removes his hands from his jacket and holds them between his own, and softly whispers, “It’s time to let go, Poseidon. I don’t have room for you in my life.”

Abruptly, Jupiter lets go of Poseidon’s hands and unbuckles him. He feels what little he has left of a heart shrivel into a husk, a husk that will only beat when he sees his Rome again. When he is with his brethren as the one true pantheon, the ones who the mortals seek help from. Not Poseidon or Zeus or Ra or whoever else is in his way. Jupiter cannot use Poseidon, his moral code refuses it, so Poseidon does not fit into his plan. It’s a lonely life to lead, but it’s one that leads him to the road of being a King again. To fulfill his purpose once more.

Hate would have stung. It would have sent Poseidon spiraling, but apathy? That pierced his heart until he felt numb. Poseidon let Jupiter move him, unbuckle him, but he didn’t move from his spot in his car. ”I find more and more reason to yearn for mortality,” Poseidon whispered, tears blotting his vision. They fell down silent into his lap. ”To shuffle off into the underworld, to drink from the Lethe and forget all of this… pain.”

His head turned toward Jupiter, stared at him with the prickle of pain in his cheek as he bit down against it. ”I’m in love with you, Jupiter or Augustus. I don’t care who you are. I don’t… I don’t care who you are,” Poseidon said, steel in his voice, ”I just wish you thought the same. I… hope you let yourself be happy for once; be selfish for once.”

Those words hung between them, against the barrier Poseidon knew Jupiter had already erected. Then he stumbled to his feat through the car door, only to tumble into the sidewalk, hand seizing against the pavement. Poseidon grit his teeth as he let himself breath, kneeled against the dour grey. He wouldn’t sob, wouldn’t let the pain of his arm or his heart get to him until his apartment door clicked shut. Though, he let himself crawl forward past the curb to press his feet against the shine of such an expensive, fucking, stupid car and slam it shut before he let himself roll and roil in turmoil.

Nothing, not even the bite of his arm, stung worse than the words so final flung at him. He must have looked pathetic on the ground in the empty street in front of his dumb apartment complex. So, he sat up, tried to crawl his way and stumble to the door of his building. Til he realized he’d dropped his key inside Jupiter’s car. No. No, he wouldn’t go back. He’d just slink inside and wait til the man left. Wait until he could see his car peel down the drive way. Then he’d find a bench outside and sleep on it until Jupiter sent someone to deliver it back. Yeah. Yeah, that’s… that’s what he’d do.

Poseidon slunk into the building, avoiding eye contact with the clerk at the desk though she obviously looked busy enough with her phone. His eyes kept themselves glued to the window, waiting for the distinct sound of money to squeal against the asphalt. To see someone he thought shared his soul fly into the wind and leave him, used and broken like everyone else eventually would. He had no family. He was certain he never did, already tossed them aside a long time ago only to realize they’d done the same to him. Without Jupiter, Poseidon felt truly, truly alone.
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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by metanoia
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metanoia

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ACROPOLIS ► HERACLES' WINNING AT BEER PONG
A collab with @metanoia@KZOMBI3@Danvers


“Hah! Suck on that, posers! House wins again!”

Jackson Drake’s party had been in full bloom for close to half an hour and in that time, the number of people had nearly doubled almost to the point where it was starting to appear like a full house. Beer Pong tables were spread all around because if there was one thing Heracles knew about the company he kept, it was they cared more about getting buzzed off of warm beer touched by a golf ball than they were about any form of solid food. After all, it wasn’t a Jackson Drake party if a few dozen kegs weren’t part of the main investment.

Jackson’s fifth beer pong match was about to begin. He was up to bat. His opponent was one of his mortals that spoke to Heracles on a personal level. He was as, if not slightly more, rowdy than Heracles could be on a good day. His energy had levels that not even Hermes nor Dio could rival. The way he lit up a room when he entered could easily put Apollo to shame. But the most important thing about Trevor? He was terrible at beer pong, which made him the ideal candidate for a show-stopping shot.

“And to the victor goes the spoils.” Heracles shot Trevor a sly grin. “Or in this case, you better drink up, Trev. You played Russian roulette, so now you’ve got a minute to drink every drop of all nine cups or that beautiful Porsche is mine!”

“You know, sometimes you can be a real ass, Jack.”

Trevor’s discontent was well received but as he consumed the putrid cocktails of warm booze, Jackson was on a high. Or rather, he was literally high. He took something about ten minutes ago -- something crafted from those wild cats over in the Egyptian Pantheon. He hadn’t the faintest idea what was in it or how nasty the effects would be, but he was feeling it. The room felt like he was in a rave as the music pounded heavily in his ears and every inch of his well-toned body felt like it was on fire -- but in the good way, not like how it felt getting blazed by Hades’ Hellfire back in the day.

As he turned back to the table, he saw a minute passed and Trevor gave up with three cups left. “What a shame! Guess that makes five wins in a row.” Yeah, maybe whatever he took was starting to affect his personality. Oh well. “Will nobody be able to stop me?”

It was almost too easy to spot the host standing above his subjects which he promptly destroyed once more in the game of Beer Pong. The foldable table, stacked with colorful solo cups and filled with cheap keg beer, was calling out to Comus. Stroking the embers within her chest, coaxing her true nature from her.

Shouting out above the music, and the heads of the party-goers between the two friends, she took up his challenge with a determined twinkle in her eyes. "You're going down Drake~!" there was a timbre to her voice that commanded attention to flit from one opponent to the other. Upon coming closer to her friend, and soon to be loser, she made a very wide show of presenting Hebe's presence.

Nudging the god of the people on the sternum she gestured with a nod towards the brunette sidled up beside her, in all her flower crown and tie-dye glory. "Drake, you remember my cousin. Hailey riiiiight~?"

His attention was equally divided between Coco’s usual bold bravado and her complete opposite. How she could go from proclaiming something that was unlikely to happen (especially considering the victory streak Herc was on) to making way to reintroduce him to her cousin. Yeah. Cousin, that’s a nice one..

But of course, he knew her. There hasn’t been a day in this world, not before the pantheon’s descension nor in the mortal life would Heracles ever forget that face. Laced with the purest beauty in all of Olympus, Hebe was the only one that Heracles could ever recall not being tainted in any sense, which considering the torture she endured at the hands of the hateful queen who sometimes pulled the mother card, that was saying a lot. Demeaning her to the role of the cupbearer, he always had a soft spot for her. And in all of the mortal years that have passed, that soft spot was as plush as a sponge cake.

“Of course I remember her!” Jackson flashed Hailey a smile, saving face for all of the mortals who probably shouldn’t hear anything about god names. “Really dig that crown. It fits this whole hipster chic vibe you got going on. Super dope!”

At his words, Hebe peeped round from behind Comus, have been trying (and failing) at stopping her from dragging them over to the table. She wasn’t ready...she needed at least one drink first! Yet when he spoke, the goddess of youth was unable to stop the small smile that tugged at her lips, fingers coming up to delicately adjust said crown. “Oh, thanks! I er, I made it myself…” She could feel her heart hammering furiously in her chest. Of course, they didn’t age but Hebe was still surprised at how perfect he looked. It instantly took any intelligible words from her mouth, leaving her to nervously stammer the first thing that popped into her head.

“I-I like your…shoes?” She blurted out, immediately cringing at her own stupidity. She hadn’t even looked at his shoes for gods sake. “I mean, I-” Trying desperately to push back the blush that threatened to bloom on her cheeks, Hebe nervously chewed on her bottom lip as she looked for something, anything else to talk about…

Oh, beer pong. Right. That’s why Coco had come over here. Walking over to the table, she picked up the winning solo cup, delicately fishing out the ping pong ball. “So…you’re pretty good then?” She smiled gently as she glanced over at Herc once more, finally managing to get out a full and coherent sentence. It had been a while since she’d played but Hebe figured she still might be able to give the demigod a run for his money. Maybe. Hopefully.

Heracles shrugged. “I guess I am, yeah.” He wasn’t going to deny it. And why would he? It was clear he ruled this game and nobody could touch him. With five wins under his belt, he was feeling pretty damn invincible. “You seem like you know a thing or two around the table. Or do you just want to watch as I show Coco here just how the pros do it?” He shot an arrogant grin towards Coco’s direction as if trying to get under her skin.

“Oh no, I wanna play!” Hebe proclaimed, the briefest hint of a childish pout gracing her features. Nerves momentarily forgotten, the goddess was practically bouncing on her toes in her eagerness to take part. No way did she want to miss out on a game! “Me and Coco can be on a team. Right?” She looked over at Coco eagerly, before grabbing her gently by the elbow and pulling her over to the other side of the table. “Um...we could do girls vs. boys?”

"YES! Great idea Hay!" The look that passed between Chaos and Man seemed to have gone unnoticed by the mortals and gods among the throng of party-goers in the immediate area. But not to them. Herc was trying to intimidate the sable headed woman, her homemade crown of flowers drooping with the fast actions being thrust upon them, and with the way his surefire cockiness soared this night might have been cause for her to be wary of his party game prowess; but then that wouldn't be in Comus' nature. She was party personified. 'Well, sort of...'

Coco did, however, manage to catch the silent back and forth playing between the two love birds besides her and could do nothing more than exclaim in excitement the fact that the tie-dye queens would be playing teams. "Prepare yourself Drake for utter embarrassment." To drive the taunt home with a wink and kiss was nothing out of the usual for the frat squad and all the baseless and idiotic shenanigans they seemed to create for themselves. Though tonight, Coco was playing for something much more important than a fucking Porsche.

"You win you get a one of a kind Coco favor; anything you want that I can provide... is yours," the smile on her face was telling. It was an open invitation to have and get whatever the holder so chooses to request of her. A way to hold her in limbo until it was time to call upon the chaotic energy and cash in the favor. Which, honestly, she hated the idea of being at the beck and call of anyone, but this was for a good cause she keeps telling herself and waits for his answer, looking up into his face searching for the acceptance she knew would be coming.

Whether it was the confident high that he was feeling from his past wins or the fact that he didn’t think Coco or even Hailey -- no offense to her, of course -- had what it took to dethrone him, he snickered victoriously. “As if I could pass up the chance to have a freebie favor owed to me. You’re on!” He shook Coco’s hand with a grin on his face. “And because I know it would be unfair for me to have a teammate, you two can gang up on poor old me!” The arrogance was climbing at an alarming rate and he wasn’t showing any signs of stopping.

Whilst the two came to their arrangement, Hebe had been quietly making her way around the table, carefully setting out new cups (because who knows where the old ones had been) and pouring in whatever type of beer Herc had chosen for the party. Her eyes twinkled with uncontained delight as she topped off the last one, hands moving to place the can alongside the rest of the empties. “Done!” She announced to no-one in particular before skipping back over to her place next to Comus. Her drinks had always been significantly more…potent than most mortals, and gods, were used to; and she hadn’t been able to resist the temptation of making this just that little bit more fun. It was a party after all...

Hebe's attention moved back to the others when Herc said he would play alone, a small frown darting across her face. ”But that doesn’t seem very fair…” Her voice trailed off at the heavy air of self-confidence radiating from the god in waves, realizing that he would have it no other way. Hebe tried to remember if he had always been like this. She supposed he probably had…though it had been a very long time since they’d last seen each other. “Well…then we can at least let you go first.” The goddess concluded with a small smile, holding the ping-pong ball out to him.

Coco tried to shush Hebe and her tender nature. There would be no 'going easy' or complaints of sides being imbalanced. He was a big boy, he said it was fine himself. Besides, she wanted to win. More than that, the daughter of Dionysus wanted to crush the son of Zeus. Not for any other reasons besides not wanting to owe any favors to the degenerate that was Heracles not like she was any better but because she wanted her winnings to go towards setting them up on some dates and reignite that wild flame that had been brutally hacked down to small kindling. Hebe and Herc were made for one another, everyone knew it. Back before the Fall, and everyone within close proximity to them now knew it. It was fate, and who was Comus to fuck around with fate? When it didn't profit her When it dealt with familial issues... This was for noble and romantic reasons! Comus wouldn't do anything to take that happiness from her best friend. And Herc too, she supposes.

But that can only happen if they mop the floor with his smug face. Once Hebe has passed the small, white plastic sphere to the man she is yanking Hebe by the elbow to their side of the table. A small gathering has taken up residency around them, a lot of the mortals favoring the side of the host - as to be expected. Though the sandy-haired goddess was a model it wasn't like they were going to be as easily recognizable to the social media king. "Heebs," the whisper came out a tad harsher than she intended, "You do remember how to play right? Because I could have sworn you were something along the lines of 'sorority champion' in the nineties..." a wide, all-knowing grin was set in place upon Coco's face as she watched her attire twin produce a sly and cheeky grin of her own.

"This," she started turning back towards the table and those who were awaiting their next move, her body alight with a buzz she couldn't get from mortal consumption. No, this was a high she could only obtain from the types of situations that called to her on a more primal level. A duel between Gods, as it were. Stakes and bets were laid out before them, it was only a matter of time before the victors were crowned and Hebe and Herc would be well on their way to coming back together as the cutest couple Olympus could produce. "This is gonna be very exciting."

”That’s only if you can win!” Heracles snickered through his potentially premature grin as he approached the table.

The table tennis ball was on his side. He picked up, rolling it between his fingers. Not only was ‘Jackson Drake’ the ruling champion at Acropolis when it came to the pong, but he had a certain flair that made every experience a memorable one. That same flare always ended with him acting a little cockier than his usual self would allow. As he took a quick look at the girls and then at the table, he aimed his shot. Arms were bent as though he were on a basketball court. He aimed for the middle cup and he squinted his eye so that only it was in view.

And then the ball launched into the air, suspending itself for a few seconds before unspecified alcohol splashed into the air, it’s mysterious contents signaling the equivalent of a swish. “And that, ladies, is how it’s done!”

Soft brown eyes had been watching the god uncertainly, only flitting to the ball when it hit its target. "Nice shot He-Jackson..." She smiled gently, quickly correcting herself as a hand moved to pick up the losing cup. Her nose scrunched up at the smell of beer, suddenly regretting making the drinks so strong. It had seemed like such a good idea a few moments ago too. But Hebe, not wanting to subject Coco to her creation, still chose to quickly down the drink herself, a small shudder running through her body at the taste. "So gross..." She muttered quietly, sticking her tongue playfully out at Coco before her focus moved back to the table.

“Oh, shall I go now? Erm…one second.” Pausing, Hebe took off her flower crown, placing it next to an extremely drunk mortal who looked like he would struggle to remember his own name. “Would you mind looking after that for me?” She asked sweetly as her hands came up to tie her long locks into a high ponytail, either ignoring or oblivious to the fact of his heavily inebriated state. “Thanks!” The goddess chirped as she picked up the ball, gaze briefly glancing over at her opponent before trailing back down to the cups.

Taking a small breath, Hebe prepared to shoot. She didn't have the same showmanship as Herc but her body still moved with a well-practiced ease, arm rising to easily sink the ball into one of the back cups. It took her a moment to realize what had happened and when she did, the goddess jumped up excitedly, pulling Coco into a hug with a loud squeak. "I did it!"

The sable blonde returned the embrace with a quick squeeze and cheered along in tandem, "Aiight Drake, drink up." The once smug grin that occupied her facial features for the idea of crushing the son of Zeus beneath her Hebe exploits was quickly making way to one of a more genuine enjoyment. The revelrous momentum the party was building only added to the excitement she felt coursing through her veins and she was sure she wouldn't be able to contain herself much longer.

“So you did,” came Herc’s surprise in the form of a congratulatory smile. His tone was flat and full of intrigue. He wouldn’t have thought the passive Hebe he remembered from before the fall and was at the mercy of her mother, who didn’t have so much as a backbone in her body, had acquired such a deceptive poker face in addition to having quite the keen eye. And even as he consumed the putrid-smelling cocktail that got worse with every sip, the only thing that had stopped him from puking it all up was trying to solve the mystery surrounding Hebe and his own desire to know what other secret talents she was hiding behind that smile of hers.

As he took the palm-sized ball into his hand, he knew he might want to take them a little more seriously, so he took his shot. He aimed for the cup at the front. When he released the ball from his hand, it tipped off the rim and fell into the cup. “Nice!” He self-congratulated with a self-five.

”Lucky shot,” Comus joked in good spirits, even more so now that she tasted Hebe's very own renowned inebriant. The liquid flowed like water as she threw back the plastic solo cup, emptying the contents in one go. Eyes wild and twinkling with a mirth that had been building up since the games began. A heavy and steadying sigh escaped her as she tried to focus on the cups and what the winning goal was to be. 'Herc can't win, cause then imma hafta owe him something fuckin' dumb... do this for Heebs.' Excitement lighting her skin on fire she took aim and tossed the lightweight object across the table, sinking into the center cup filled with the elixir of the gods.

A hoop and a holler a beat later and she was inciting a riotous chorus of "Down in one, down in one, down in one!" All eyes were now on their fearless, charismatic leader and Jackson Drake was never one to back down. Coco eyed him as if daring him to not heed his loyal subjects' chanting. He wouldn't dare dream of such a thing and that is what she was counting on. A few more plays like this and Herc was bound to slip up.

“You want me to do it one go?” The showman Jackson Drake looked at everyone who was chanting and they responded with a resounding ‘yeah!’. He repeated it two more times, his voice getting louder with each round. It was at the point that Heracles was starting to really show just how deep into his party-boy persona he was. He grabbed the red solo cup and didn’t even think. He sent all of its contents into the bottomless pit that was his stomach and furthered the feat by grabbing an empty beer can from the ground, crushing it with ease against the center of his forehead, and let out a deep, noisy belch. ”WOO! I’M FEELIN’ IT NOW!”! His primal yell came with loud holler.

Whilst the others watched the demigod in all his glory, the look of excitement that had been etched across Hebe's face suddenly dropped away. It was instead replaced by uncertainty, eyebrows pulling together in a brief moment of confusion. Her fingers came up to play with the ends of her ponytail, nervously wrapping themselves through the brunette strands. She definitely did not recall Heracles being like this. Not that there was anything wrong with it…but the goddess suddenly remembered why she had stayed away from frat parties these last few years. It was too close...too much. His face suddenly swum in front of her vision, threatening to pull her back to that ever nearing precipice.

Shaking her head, she turned to Herc, forcing herself to focus on him instead…even if she wasn’t entirely sure who he was anymore. “I think it’s your go…” Her voice was barely audible over the noise as she picked up the ball, carefully tossing it over to him.

Regardless of the adrenaline surging through her from the raucous nature around them, Comus was extremely in tune with Hebe's new switch in demeanor. As perceptive as Coco was, which wasn't very, even she caught wind that it had to have had something to do with Heracles and his display of machismo that put off the goddess of youth.

A defensive measure took root in her in the form of aggression, because there aren't many things that Comus approaches without some kind of wild abandonment. This called for a delicate touch she just didn't possess. A small, genuine smile was thrown Hebe's way, a hug and a kiss to her temple Coco pulled away to gaze into her eyes. A deadly glare was sent towards their gracious host as she downed another cup of the ambrosia liquor. With a well-placed wobble, a show of throwing her arms up and above her she played her part of 'messy white girl wasted' well. Footing slipped beneath her sending her balance off-kilter and causing Coco to knock into the beer pong table, sending plastic cups flying into the air and scattering on the floor and even atop her cousin's outfit. "Hayyy! I'm soooooo sorry, like, for real! Drake!" she had to pat herself on the back for her awfully accurate depiction of trashed mortal women.

"Here! Go get cleaned up! Drake, go with her. I'll hold down the fort for ya! Byeeee!~" Coco was adamant on getting them alone together, and hopefully with him away from the limelight he could deflate that big ego of his. For just a moment at least.

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Akayaofthemoon

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Hathor felt like she was practically dragging herself over the threshold instead of shuffling in on her own two feet, hardly even remembering to close the door behind her once she had made it inside. It had been a miserable drive home, every microscopic movement and jostle causing searing pain to shoot through her as tears had continued to fall against her will, blurring her vision while she drove. ’Why did he have to feel so miserable and guilty? Should have just left him with it. Stupid Ares!’, she thought while carefully shrugging out of her jacket, harshly biting her lip as she did so before tossing it onto the coat rack and not caring if it made it on there or not. She made her way to the kitchen, determined to eat her weight in ice cream because she was damn sure that would make her feel better even if only a smidge but upon opening the freezer she found no such sweet treat, only a container with just a bite or two left of the confection she craved.

She stared at the bottom of the container far longer than she should have, feeling complete crushing disappointment. Angrily, Hathor tossed it into the trash and raked her fingers roughly through her hair in frustration. She glanced at the wine cabinet, her foot tapping as she debated on if she really wanted to take that direction. She had been trying to get better about that after all and put the heavy partying behind her.
”Fuck it!”, she decided, snagging a bottle of her favorite homemade pomegranate wine, quickly working to discard the cork before making her way to the bathroom. If she couldn’t find her way to the bottom of a carton of ice cream then she was going to drown her sorrows in a bottle of wine. She took a swig, setting it on the sink counter before turning on the faucet to fill up the tub so she could take a well deserved bath. She pulled out some bubble bath gel, pouring a good amount into the water, only taking a moment to watch it foam before placing it back under the sink.

Hathor plopped down on the toilet lid, yanking off her boots even though the action of bending over to do so had been a horrible idea. It caused her to bite down on her fist to keep from crying out. She stood, panting softly and looking at herself in front of the bathroom mirror with a frown. Her lip was split open, looking more than a little worse for the wear since she had been biting at it. Her cheeks were swollen, already starting to bruise and her gums below them weren’t doing much better. She took a deep breath, slowly peeling the shirt away from her skin to have a look at where she knew the most damage was. She was already cursing and whimpering in pain by the time it was removed, deep bruises and some small cuts littered over her stomach reaching all the way around her sides. If she didn’t have a fractured rib or worse than she would be surprised. Hathor didn’t even bother to try and see her back, knowing it would probably be much worse than the darkened mass of skin on her front side. She thanked the stars that she didn’t have anywhere to be for the next few days, as she worked on removing the other items of clothing.

Phone and bottle in hand, she slid into water with a content sigh and shutting the faucet off with her foot. Setting the bottle aside for now, she looked to the text message on her phone and debated on what she should say. She didn’t want to give too much information since the last thing she needed was someone fretting over her or worse, getting upset with her over the actions she took. Hathor wasn’t about to ignore her pantheon though and not at least acknowledge that she wouldn’t be present.


To: Whomever & Egyptians
Sorry, I won’t be able to make it as planned. Something came up that couldn’t be avoided. I love you all and have a good time for me! 😘


With a small nod, deeming it suitable to send, it was off into the digital void and set the phone aside to pick up the wine once more. Instead of just drinking to drink as she had done earlier, she actually let herself savor the tangy sweetness of the pomegranate, relaxing fully into the water with a delighted hum as the heat soothed her physical pains while wine took care of the rest. It had been a long time since she had felt this miserable after a fight, she would give Ares that. She couldn’t exactly pinpoint the last time but it probably would have been somewhere in her mafia days, when she was helping Hades not only by being a doctor of sorts and giving them a safe place to stay with her bar but actually making certain problems disappear. Hathor knew Hades wasn’t blind to what she had done, with or without his permission. He played his mafia life like chess, moving everyone in the prime position and making them think it had been their plan all along. Hathor removed pieces from her chess set when she didn’t like them. It made a smile tug at her lips as she took another few chugs, closing her eyes and letting her thoughts drift even further than that.

The smell of cigar and cigarette smoke hung in the air, curling and billowing from various patrons. Smooth sensual notes from the saxophone rang clear over the other instruments creating an almost romantic sound as it echoed. The slow jazz poured out from the small stage while people swayed to the beat and held each other close in the dim lighting of the dance floor. Ruby painted lips curled into a gentle smile as obsidian eyes tenderly watched them, letting herself be entranced by their movements as she lazily wiped down the dark cherrywood bar. This place was her pride and joy, every piece of it held her own sweat, blood, and tears as she had been right there during the making of it. She helped to build every inch of this secret cove, a haven for those that were not ready to give up this kind of lifestyle.

The Mystic Waters was everything she had dreamed it would be, from the various rugged carpeting in shades of dark blue that made up everything but the dance floor, all the way to the soft lighting and crystal chandelier with drops of blue like glittering sapphires. The place was packed with clothed tables and cushioned wooden chairs to accommodate the crowds. Booths could be found around the outer edges of the dining area that could be curtained for a bit more privacy and often hosted many a VIP guest. It was easily one of the finest speakeasy around and she planned to keep it that way for a long time. Hathor had made it her mission to create this place, going as far as carving out a large portion of territory and claiming it as a neutral zone between multiple clashing mafia. If the gangs and mafia wanted to kill each other or duke it out in the streets, that was fine by her as it was their business but no blood was to be spilled on her turf and especially not here. It had been an unspoken rule but one she had backed up with her own hired help and a heap load of guns.

It would be an obvious lie to say there wasn’t tension when rivals decided to grace her pristine establishment with their presence but she always made sure to accommodate all parties fairly and kept them away from each other as much as possible. Sure, a few had to be thrown out a couple of times to get the picture but all an all she had been fairly lucky. She couldn’t help but be thankful that some mafia groups still knew how to be respectful instead of trying to challenge her. The thought of the mafia drew her attention to one such group that was currently seated, though her eyes instantly landed on a single man within the circle. Well, not really a man since a God could hardly be called such but her eyes took in his appearance, truly looking him over for the first time. He held himself in almost a regal manner but somehow still seemed approachable if one was cautious about how the interaction went. His eyes were dark, she could only assume they were brown from this distance but his stare seemed intense as he focused in on those speaking. Everything about his outward appearance was clean cut and precisely in place which seemed very different from the ruggedly handsome features of his face even as it continued to hold a seriously stern expression. While the seemingly cold or indifferent aura might be off putting to others, Hathor found herself intrigued by it, wondering what his personality was really like and if it at all matched his outward appearance. She couldn’t put her finger on it but she felt like there was much more than meets the eye when it came to the Greek God. The group was a frequent occurrence but the two immortal beings had hardly interacted at all. Hathor found no reason to really venture outside her pantheon, not going out of her way to make friends or get to know anyone else but for just this once the nagging curiosity was there or maybe it had been steadily growing with each visit.

The distinct sound of someone plopping down on one of the leather bar stools drew her gaze from the one in a crowd of many to focus her attention solely on her visitor, a dazzling smile lighting up on her face at his presence.
”Hey Suit, long time no see. How have you been?, she asked, pulling out two glasses from behind the bar. The man giving a crooked grin, chuckling and tossing his fedora onto the bar before speaking up,”Ya know not to call me dat, beautiful. I much prefer my name on your lips.”

She found herself laughing, shaking her head at his antics before pouring them both a good shot of whiskey.”Sorry Mickey, can’t help myself. How have the Red Spades been treating you? Good I hope or should I crack open a few skulls for you?”, she asked playfully but actually was very serious about the matter. This shaggy sandy-blonde haired man with freckles dappled over the bridge of his nose who sat before her was one of the few mortals that didn’t make her want to pull her hair out. He had always been a pleasant fellow, sweet with words and kind in his actions. He had never given her a reason not to support him in his efforts though she couldn’t say she particularly cared for his boss, the Ace of Spades, leader of the Red Spades. The prick was always trying to cause trouble and more than once, she had been tempted to break his hand or maybe rip it off to beat him with it if he didn’t learn to keep it to himself. He also had the most over inflated ego and was the very definition of a slimeball which grated on her nerves but he had never crossed the line enough to flat out ban him. It was such a pity really but no one could say she wasn’t fair.

Unfortunately, it seemed like she might have hit a nerve with her questions to Mickey, the man turning his stormy blue eyes in every direction but her own and suddenly was unable to sit still. He grabbed the glass, tossing it back quickly, only focusing his attention on her for a brief moment before his eyes started to glance around the room for a second time, putting her nerves on edge.
”If it’s all the same to ya, I’d rather not talk ‘bout the Spades right now.”, he spoke, his words calm but his body language screaming he was anything but that. He locked his gaze onto her, looking straight into her eyes this time as he spoke once more,”Miss Sahraoui, why don’tcha skip out early? Let’s ditch this place, just you and me, have ourselves a night out on the town? Whatcha say? Ya in?”, he asked as if desperately pleading with her to take the bait. She didn’t know why he was asking but she knew something was up and she planned to get to the bottom of it.

”What’s really going on? The truth. I know we tease each other but we both know for a fact I’m not your type and we have never painted town red even as friends.”, she asked in concern, worry clawing at her gut and fearing something was seriously wrong. He bit his lip, groaning as he wiped his hands down his face before leaning slightly over the bar and gesturing for her to come in closer. Hathor leaned in just like he asked and waited to see what he would do or what he would answer with.”I don’t know the whole deal since I ain’t in the royal circle but...it seems dat there was a tip ‘bout some kinda hot shot bein’ here tonight. I don’t know what the boss is gonna do ‘bout dis or the information. I just wanna make sure you are alright and to get ya outta here. I woulda never forgiven myself if somethin’ happened to ya if I coulda stopped it.”, he whispered honestly. She felt like she had swallowed a stone that sank into the pit of her stomach while her heart jumped into her throat. Her hands shook slightly as she grabbed the glass of whiskey and took a shot.

”Are you sure it’s going down tonight?”, she asked, frantically trying to think on who she needed to advise about this and how quickly she could get everyone out. If the Ace of Spades was out for blood then he would have no problems getting through others to do it, mafia members or not. Her men were stationed around her turf and even more heavily around the place but something seemed off if her friend was this desperate. Mickey was about to give an answer when a loud slam was heard near the front entrance, a string of bullets flying through the air, and a scream of terror rang out. The place turned into chaos, the innocent bystanders thinking it was the cops and starting to scatter while her own people tried to herd them out the back exit. Those in various gangs around the place decided to take up arms, the no use of guns rule suddenly not applying now that the neutral zone had been violated. Shots were being fired left and right, screams getting louder and growing in numbers, tables slammed to the ground as they were forcibly overturned while the glasses and decorative centerpieces upon them were shattered, and orders were being barked out from multiple areas.

”Mickey, get out of here, now.”,she ordered, as one of her men popped out from around the corner. She steeled herself, signaling over to him in which he nodded and pulled her own gun out from behind the bar.”I can’t just leave ya!”, he insisted, puffing out his chest and ready to fight.”Please go, as a favor to me. I’m a big tough girl and can handle myself. My men and everyone else will be after the Spades now that they have violated the rules. You are not safe.”,she pleaded softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. He caved after that with a nod, placing the fedora back on his head with a flare and sliding his fingers over the rim.”Fine, I’ll go but ya gotta promise ta be here when I come back.”, he said, not moving an inch until she nodded with an ‘I promise’ and just like that, he was making a mad dash for the exit.

Hathor stepped out from behind the bar, taking her weapon from her flunkies hand as fury swam through her veins. She confidently stepped out into the crossfire happening in the dining area as if one would while taking a stroll down the catwalk. She pulled back the hammer on the revolver, rapidly shooting any of the Red Spades that dared to cross her path, the intense rage clear on her features. She wasn’t one for guns, the vile contraptions were messy and could end lives far too quickly for her tastes but that did not mean she didn’t know how to handle one. She discarded her revolver once the bullets were out and rolled to scoop up a weapon off of one of the fallen men, making sure to take cover behind one of the turned over tables. She worked to check the new weapon over when she realized that she wasn’t alone, a pair of ebony oxford shoes right beside her. Eyes drifted up his frame slowly to catch a glimpse at the one standing off to the side above her, only to be pleasantly surprised as he in turn looked down to her as she sat in an awkwardly crouched position, probably appearing rather ridiculous.

Both their eyes met, yet they did not speak to one another, just a moment of silence passing between them where immortal acknowledged immortal. If the situation were different, she might have indulged in holding his gaze and let time slip by but they both had more important tasks at hand. Her eyes fluttered back onto her targets as she leaned around the edge of her cover, carefully changing locations to weave her way through the tables and make her way to the better position to have a look see at the ones who had caused such destruction to her place. It seemed there were quite a few of the Ace’s men, suit and royal alike but the coward himself had decided not to show from what she could tell which just made her blood boil more. He thought he was going to get away with this!? That his lacking presence absolved him of the blatant disregard of the rules she had set because he wanted to take out another mafia ring. Did he think that she didn’t know he had orchestrated this? Afterlife help him if it had been a stand or message against the God of the Underworld. He already had himself lined up for a dose of punishment from one immortal, two just meant he was fucked beyond his imagination and not in the good way.

She stood, firing off a couple of shots before ducking behind the table again, watching a few new holes be made. It wasn’t like she could die from something so pathetic but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like a son of a bitch when it happened. If she could avoid bullets directly, then she would. Thankfully, not all of them were what she would call sharpshooters. Hathor popped out again, squeezing off a few more rounds and hitting a few more targets before the distinct click of an empty chamber greeted her ears. She tossed it to the side, moving back into hiding again when the return fire was shot off. While she hadn’t been hit, the older gentleman one table over had been and he slunk to the ground in agony. She bit her lip, moving over to his position quickly, wincing as a bullet grazed her arm on the journey over. He looked in bad shape, his shoulder bleeding profusely and in a horrid amount of pain.

She yanked him up into a seated position before working on ripping the bottom of her dress. She folded it quickly, pressing it down onto the wound as he yelped with a fresh string of curses in her direction.
”I’m going to let that slide but just this once. Now, take your hand and keep pressure on that, even if you don’t feel like you are in pain. Keep pressure on it. Understand? Nod if you understand me.”,Hathor ordered, as she switched her own hand for his so he could apply pressure. She wished she had time to patch him up now, but it would have to wait and he would not be the only one in need of assistance by the time this was over. She felt the tingle of power rush through her as she placed a gentle squeeze on his free hand, a pain instantly ripping into her shoulder as if she had been the one shot and bleeding. She gasped, looking to her shoulder as she forced her mind to remember that it wasn’t real. The pain very much was but there was no wound, nothing to stress over as she forced herself to move. She grabbed her comrades' gun, signaling to one of her men to round up the group as she made her way to Hades. They needed a plan and she was happy to follow if he had ideas.

Hades and Hathor’s men closed in from both sides, slowly and strategically in their movements to carefully pin their opponents in as well as limiting their places to hide. The Spades didn’t have a chance, any hope of escape was thought of far too late, the group finding their ends swiftly while realizing the mistakes they had made, only a second before their demise. The speakeasy looked like a disaster zone, as though a tornado had torn right through it. She had to admit that it was a devastating blow for her, seeing the place in such shambles. She was usually the first to enjoy destruction but not when it was something precious to her. Instead it was sad and made her feel pathetic that she had not been able to properly protect her own.
”Jimmy?”, she asked in a serious tone, pointedly looking to one of her own. She could see him gulp, none of them ever wishing to be in her presence when she was in a foul mood.

“Yes, Ma’am?”, he asked cautiously, trying to remain polite and ready to assist.”Get me the med kits. I’m going to need them and I want you in my office tomorrow. I have an assignment for you.”,she answered before walking away, not bothering to acknowledge the answer as she knew he would not deny her request. She carefully picked up chairs that were still suitable for use and went to work on helping the remaining people get the worst injured into the chairs to be taken care of. It wasn’t going to be a pleasant experience helping these men but it was something that felt right to do since she had failed them. Hathor took a deep breath, pushing down her pride as she made her way over to speak with Hades and try to apologize for the situation.”Ha..”,she started to speak before pausing, realizing she didn’t actually remember what his mortal alias was and with all the others around it might not be wise to call him by his given name. She quickly corrected herself, changing the first word of what she was planning to say,”Hey, can I speak with you for a moment?”

Hades who had been talking with one of his Judges turned around when he heard someone attempting to get his attention. As he looked at the person that had approached him he wasn't surprised much to see that he was the owner of the bar itself, the Egyptian goddess herself. What did surprise him however was her need to talk to her, though he supposed it was something to do with the shooting. “But of course Ma’am.” Hades finished as he dusted his hat off a bit from bits of woods and shrapnel. As he moved to follow her so that they could speak in private he waved off his judges “You know what to do.”

She led him to the stage, taking a seat on the edge of the wooden structure while trying to find the exact words to say. ”I wanted to thank you for defending my bar against the Red Spades. The damage would have been exponentially worse without you and your mens intervention. I also wanted to apologize for the situation. It should have never been able to happen in the first place.”,she spoke, only pausing for a moment to touch her aching shoulder before folding her hands in her lap.”I would like to repay you. Not just by patching up your men and using my powers to numb their pain, but to offer a continuing partnership. I think we made a good team and I would like this place to be a safe haven for those under your protection. The rules I hold would no longer apply as I would see them as my own and protect them as such.”

“No need to apologize, after all it's most likely my fault this happened. Guess the bastard couldn't help but take the chance to try and kill me.” Hades took a second however as he processed the idea the Egyptian goddess had in mind. Hades was accustomed to people coming to him or rather his subordinates for partnerships amongst the crime world. But those were mortals who had no idea what or who he really was. “I'd be honored at the partnership but I must warn you, working with me does not look well from my Family.” He let the word family fall off his tongue with sarcasm. “And I can not guarantee it will be any different from the others as well.” as Hades finished he took a glance around the once pristine bar that had now been torn asunder in the storm of lead that just happened. He had to admit, it was sad to see something so beautiful in such a poor state. As he finished his sweep of the bar Hades let his eyes settle back on the goddess before him gauging her reaction to his statement.

Hathor smiled softly, glad to hear that he was open to a partnership but raised an eyebrow at him at the warning he provided. She could care less about what the Greek pantheon thought of her and others could think what they wanted. She chuckled lightly before giving a shrug as she replied,
”If they have an issue with who I spend my time with then it sounds like a personal problem for them. I believe that everyone should be judged by their own actions and not by the heresy of others. You have never done anything worthy of my scorn and you have never harmed any in my pantheon. I would be honored to have a partnership with you and hold no shame in being seen in your presence. I dare them to say something about it.”

Hades was happy to see that the egyptian goddess cared little for the stigma that often came with being near him. “Well I am glad to hear that Hathor.” he said let a smile grace his face as he stuck out his hand to seal the deal. As their hands met Hades eyes glowed a dim red before fading with the end of the hand shake.“And just like that, the deal is made.” Hades said with a wicked smirk on his face. “Now if you'll excuse me I believe I have a score to settle.”


If she looked back on that moment, taking the time to analyze it, that might have been when she started to walk towards the edge of falling for Hades. That genuine smile while holding out his hand to her so they could make the deal about their partnership official. In that moment, she felt no hesitation when she slipped her hand into his own and even as his eyes turned red, she hadn’t once felt regret for sealing such a deal but instead could only think about how wonderful it was to hear his voice saying her name, how magnificent he had appeared with a smile on his lips and how beautiful his gaze had been. Sadly, the deep dive into her thoughts and actions from the past were placed on hold as her mind was fuzzy and slowed. The bottom of the bottle was found long ago and the water was no longer as warm as it had been when she first entered. Time was irrelevant and every moment seemed fleeting in her eyes as she shakily tried to stand, slipping a few times back into the water with a laugh.

The pain she felt was like a distant memory, barely registering in her mind even though it was still there. It took a few tries to properly stand even as she did, she was still swaying on her feet as the world tilted around her. The bottle dropped from her fingers and sank into the water to be forgotten as she practically tripped out of the tub, catching herself in just the nick of time from falling but still having to sit on the tubs edge to not completely land on her face. Hathor frowned with a pout at the uncomfortable feeling of something beneath her and leaned to the side to retrieve the item, only to find her phone. A look of delight lit up on her face while staring at the piece of technology before cooing in a slurred voice that was trying to switch between languages,
”Dewe 'ou are! Why are 'ou hidin' fwom mwe?

Hathor stood, her full attention on her phone as she stumbled out of the bathroom, making her way to the bedroom with a lot of tripping and door bumping which only caused a flutter of laughter to be heard. She tossed herself back on the bed once she arrived, looking to her phone as her mind kept slipping back to the past looping to Hades. She wanted to see him. She didn’t want to be here alone. It was lonely. He should cheer her up. ’Oh, I hab dah bestes' idea!, she thought to herself as she went to her contacts to pull up his name. She clicked on it, moving to snuggle into her blankets as she listened to the constant ring. The sound stopped, her heart speeding up as she opened her mouth to speak but frowned as she soon realized she had gotten his voicemail and not the real deal. She listened anyway, enjoying herself as she waited for her turn to speak but instead of starting her greeting as she should, her mouth just word vomited the first thought on her brain.

”من النجوم ، صوتك لا يصدق….., she slurred out with almost a purr to her voice. It took Hathor’s brain a moment to catch up, trying to remember why her native language was not going to work if trying to speak with the Greek god. She tried again, though her thoughts and words weren’t much better than talking in another language since they were jumping away from the beginning of a conversation to the middle of one. .”Fo' wunnin'......why can’t.....nu.....Whewe am 'ou! Hadesss, why 'ou nu answew!!? …….Fwuffy miss 'ou.....I’m sowwy.....not cowawd, I’ww show 'ou......awso pwease don’t be mad....Awes desewbed it.....way what wass I sayin’? Oh, fowgot to say hewwo…..hewwo! Dis am haff by da waz!.....Tiwed, am tiwed. Isa gotta go an' hab some sweepies. Nighty dawk time, ظلي.”, she dropped the phone from her ear as she stopped speaking, cuddling into bed with it still on. It was hard to say how much of the message or the garbled mess of words had been saved but she found herself drifting to sleep fairly quickly and feeling rather content.




Collab Section with: @sly13
Mentions: Ares & Hades

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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by beetlemoth
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beetlemoth 𝔫𝔬 𝔤𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔶 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔢𝔰𝔱

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XOLOTL
𝙱𝙴𝙰𝚄𝙵𝙾𝚁𝚃 & 𝙼𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙴𝚁 𝙻𝙻𝙿
𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁


At Beaufort & Messier, everything runs like clockwork, a well-oiled machine of three-piece suits and penetrating minds; but work isn’t the only thing they see fit to direct their efforts towards. Civil lawsuits are, more often than not, a long, tedious process —– monotonous at the best of times, and downright hellish at the worst. The mountains of paperwork involved are nothing compared to the evasive maneuvers of bureaucracy. So every won case, every hard-earned victory is met with celebration.

And that’s why the office, full of glass walls and ultra-modern fittings, has tonight grown abuzz with the beginnings of festivity. Gone is the atmosphere of single-minded focus that had suffused the firm that very morning. Instead, bottles of wine have been uncorked, ties loosened, and jackets carelessly cast aside.

Xolotl, however, has other matters on his mind.

He’s distracted, just a little, though an attentive eye would likely be able to see past his veil of responsiveness. Unfortunately, the junior associate currently chattering away to his left seems to lack such a degree of observation. Xolotl feels thirsty just listening to him speak, words tumbling from his lips like machine gun fire.

Murmuring a bland acknowledgment in response, he drains the last dregs of Moët & Chandon from his glass. It goes down easy, almost too easy.

“You know, Mr. Ochoa, I’ve really learned a lot from you these past few months. This whole case… it’s been eye-opening, to say the least.”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” Xolotl says, a wry smile on his lips. He’s only been half-listening. Not like it matters. Every time he spoke, the kid hung onto his every word like they were gospel. “Not every case is going to be like this, though. Most of the time, you’re dealing with workplace injuries and unpaid overtime. Not exactly exciting stuff, but I think you knew that already.”

The junior associate laughs, then for a brief, blessed moment, falls silent. Xolotl uses it as an opportunity to put an impromptu end to the conversation, telling him to enjoy himself before clapping a hand against his shoulder and standing up.

He leaves his now-empty glass on the edge of someone’s desk and reaches into his pocket for his phone, unlocking it with a practiced sequence of taps. Somewhere behind him, a chorus of cackles rings out, no doubt the result of some off-colour joke someone made. Xolotl ignores it in favour of scrolling through his contacts. Most of them are clients, associates, then Tlazōlteōtl and Xōchipilli, his siblings, listed under their human aliases. Truth be told, he doesn’t have much of a life outside of work, but he doesn’t mind, really. He enjoys having something to do, something to occupy his time, and being a lawyer of his caliber had its perks.

Money. Contacts. Influence. All well and good, but there’s something… missing. A heaviness in his chest which left him adrift, tangled up in the seductive pull of the past.

Without even fully realizing it, Xolotl finds himself stopped at a certain name in his contacts, his thumb ghosting over the surface of the screen.

Freya.

He’s not sure what he’s hoping to gain from this, or why he’s even doing it in the first place —– a misguided longing for comfort? Understanding? Whatever it is, Xolotl knows it’s a foolish endeavor, but his fingers are moving of their own accord, typing out a message to the Norse goddess before he can even think to regret it.

To: Freya
If you’re not too busy, let’s get a drink.

Xolotl stares at the words for a moment longer before hitting ‘send’, slipping his phone back into his pocket. His coworkers beckon him to join them, and he lets one of them push a new glass of wine into his hand after a cursory protest.

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Rockette && 𝚊 𝚕 𝚙 𝚑 𝚊

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ᴇ ᴠ ᴇ ɴ ɪ ꜰ ɪ ᴛ ᴛ ᴀ ᴋ ᴇ ꜱ ᴀ ʟ ʟ ɴ ɪ ɢ ʜ ᴛ ᴏ ʀ ᴀ ʜ ᴜ ɴ ᴅ ʀ ᴇ ᴅ Y ᴇ ᴀ ʀ ꜱ.
𝒃 𝒆 𝒕 𝒕 𝒆 𝒓 𝒅 𝒂 𝒚 𝒔 .
𝒃 𝒆 𝒕 𝒕 𝒆 𝒓 𝒅 𝒂 𝒚 𝒔 .


[ 𝚊𝚗𝚞𝚋𝚒𝚜' 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚓𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚖 ].............
████████████████. . .████████████████. . .████████████████. . .████████████████. . .████████████████



Familiarity was an intimate acquaintance to all beings immortal. It bred not only contempt but also melancholy. It was conceptualism wed to flickering déjà vu that broke across the mind in waves of wistful memoirs; each tremble of wanting imagery was a quivering pass of phantom touches. Tortures.

Bastet could only offer and lay blame to the willing spike that chained her to fate irreplaceable and eternally cruel as before her loomed a familiar facet of days gone by. Though, this was a different time, a different place, and a different building that eclipsed her pleasantly against the settled evening. Here there was a break of an absence of a summoning text or a hastily placed phone call that would've brought her to this plane of consistency, the words were often sweet things, whispers of affection that brought with it broken laughter. She's been here once, maybe twice, always on the whims of the heart and late hours that kept him there. Chained, she thinks, beautiful, golden chains spliced with obsidian and thick brass. Bound willingly, Bastet had to remind herself often, for even with her tugging on those restraints, they gave not under her touches that gifted solace and pain. From the shadow at her heels comes a soft mewl, an inquiry of concern that brings her soft gaze down and away from where she would, without a doubt, enter into once more.

"It's okay."

Such a simplistic fallacy. It's a mantra that flings itself upon the chasm of her disparity the moment her cooled fingers ply open the doors -- oh there's one more delivery I should make -- and the foyer greets her with an unmanned desk. Amber luminescence toned down, it's past normal office hours after all, but somewhere yonder where assistants would be there to seek her intentions, she knew he would still be there working.

You're okay, it's okay, this is okay.

She veers to the right on memory but she feels like a silhouette upon the fringes of a dream, her gestures are sluggish in comparison to her usual elegance and somewhere betwixt her ears her heart lays and drums to a hummingbird's wing. It's the soft twine of a tail around her calf that brings her clarity and golden eyes that pierce to the depths of her anxiety to vanquish the panic that has risen to her throat. It's just Anubis, Bastet's scolds.

It's only the man you love.

His office is all dark grain woods and black ran through with gold and immaculate to near-obsessive compulsion, it's what she expects of him as she enters his office without so much as a knock to announce her. He'd know it was her. Or maybe Ammit, but she imagines that latter to barrel through with all the subtlety of her animal manifest. Still, Bastet ghosts her path to his desk held within incredible order, not a single object kept out of place and every accessory aligned. It's not until she comes to a standstill that she breathes, finally, and flattens her palms against the quiver in her belly.

"Should've known you'd be here. Keeping late hours, again."

The hunch of his spine, creaking with the weight of life that never leaves him. Always buzzing around and pulling him to and fro, it is by this direction that he’s spent another day at his desk. The papers are a scattered mess, an outlier among the order of the room, but it’s a testament to the growing stress and the control that’s slipping between his fingertips.

Tension coils his muscles taut, the grind of his teeth deafens his ears, dark eyes scan over the documents, there’s a missing piece to this puzzle, and it’s the roadblock to freedom for an innocent man. Only the melody of a voice that tugged at the strings of his heart before it registered in his mind broke his focus. Blinking away the words the threatened to burn into his mind, with how many times he read them, his vision was filled with Bastet.

Surprise flickered across his face for a moment before a furrow rested between his brow in confusion. A question caught on his tongue, and almost slipped away from him before he swallowed it down. Anubis was happy to see her and thankful for the chance after the mess of the conclave. The Guide of the Dead pushed back his chair, relaxing against the plush leather, and nodded at her words.

“Perhaps centuries of a similar routine have made me too predictable, but the same does not apply to you.” A comfortable smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he motions for Bastet to sit wherever she’d like, “I am happy to see you again, especially after the events of the conclave. How are you?”

Her responses are simplistic. It’s easy, almost, to slip into the adoring simpers that grace upon her features at his quip, his voice a remedy to the plague of her previous uncertainty. Bastet laughs, a quiet bell that springs from her throat whilst her gaze turns oblique, cutting through the fringe of her lashes at his confession and inquiry.

“I suppose not.” She rejoins cooly, absently tracing her nails against the seam of a leather-bound chair. How many clients have been here, facing towards a God of the Dead?

“I’m as well as I can be, as any of us are.” It’s the lingering reaping of the damned that she contemplates at that moment, for even they were subjected to an eternal fall from grace. “And you?” Bastet mutters, her golden gaze fleeting, tracing scattered papers she hadn’t noticed before, their haphazardous display stark in relation to his usual equanimity.

A shrug of nonchalance meets her inquiry, his gaze averting further from her truth seeking eyes. Anubis doesn’t feel like being read in this moment, or talking about how he has been, at least not truthfully, so he settles for a sellable, ”Fine.” But he knows that’s not enough, not for someone that had seen his heart, and so he tries again after clearing his throat and running his hands over his sweater clad chest, “I mean, I’m doing fine, between the news from the conclave and my cases I’ve been-”scared, tired, worried, helpless, the words are swallowed down and the God of emotional dishonesty the Dead motions to his desk, “severely busy.”

Anubis nods at the answer, he’s satisfied with the half-truths. The chime of his phone distracts him momentarily, a reminder for Imentet’s gathering lights up the screen and he’s already putting his desk back into order, “Care to accompany me to the tea house? I can take you home after as well.” There’s an underlying hope in his tone, his tidying pauses to glance up at her, his obsidian eyes softer than they had been days ago.

It’s not the answer she desires, but it’s the only answer he’s willing to give. The slight proffer, though subdued and carefully restrained, is suspended on both lie and truth, and Bastet deciphers the charade with ease. Somewhere between his doubling effort, a sigh plumes into the air; an all too knowing slip of wistfulness and hope hung upon words she has heard before. Severely busy was entirely an understatement, she’s witnessed the immense workload he undertakes and even endowed well in strength and obligated cause, Bastet has to wonder -- yet again -- just how much a man could endure.

“I see.” It’s a silent admission of peace and a promise to not inquire further to his state of affairs, for it would only lead to a dead end. Bastet knows an omission when presented, especially one sputtered from his lips and eyes cast purposely low in retreat. She reads the lines of his profile instead, settling for a gentle reproach. “I can only imagine how busy.”

And she could. The conjuring memory was of heated words and strained pleas against hopeless tongues, of biting nails and rigid bones yielding under pliant flesh. It’s the softness of his obsidian gaze that brings her forward, her gestures quiet whilst she gathers papers within her palms and hands them forward.

“I’d love to.” She answered truthfully, lips drawn into an affectionate smile.

Anubis met her offering halfway, the graze against her fingers sent a familiar electricity buzzing along the muscles in his arm. The final touches matched the desk to the rest of the room, and everything was back in order. With his keys and phone in hand he offered an empty arm to Bastet, “It has been a while since you’ve last visited the tea house.” Anubis’ tone bordered that of a question hidden within the observation he provided.

He really wanted to know why she stopped coming, but some part of him already knows the answer. A large part of him does not want to hear her say it, at least not tonight. Tonight Anubis wants to let his worries melt over the delicious tea Imentet would provide and laugh along to the vibrant stories his family would certainly share.

It’s immediate the way she takes his arm with fingers aligned against his forearm and nearly just as instant there’s a jolt that coils from palm and upward to nestle against her ribs. It’s that surge of familiarity once more that nearly robs breathe and reason from Bastet but then there’s the calm. The soothing relation and ambiance that Anubis provides in his simple act of offering her passage to and from the tea house.

“I’ve been… Busy.” It’s an ironic admission, an excuse that she has coined from his own repertoire of justification, and the truth of the utterance is not lost upon her. “Between patients, clients; you know how it goes.” Bastet waves her hand as if to banish their intrusion into her thoughts that very instant.

“I’ve even been offering time at the shelter, strays are abundant in this city, the cats and I do what we can to protect them.”

Bastet is careful to avoid mentioning just how far her influence has gone among the many, and how her cats have a constant watch of the shadows, even the ones at their very heels. Instead of attempting to reason the real cause behind her absence -- not just from the tea house -- she nestles against him and lays her head against his shoulder, allowing herself just this tiny sliver of sudden peace.

“The city is always bustling with life, overflowing even, and that makes us all far too busy for our own good.” Anubis’ reply is soft and without any inclination of pestering or accusing. Outside of the courtroom he liked to take people at face-value, he could see into the hearts of man but usually let their wickedness remain behind a mask of beauty.

The night around them was quiet in this part of town near the bay. Partly the reason Anubis chose it. The street was empty of traffic and the only sound was that of their footfalls and easy chatter. A minute felt like a few seconds, their nights felt like small moments in time, and days passed in a blink of an eye when he spent time with the Feline Goddess. Anubis feels at peace in her presence, his mind is clear and his tensions have eased away as Bastet’s heat and weight rest comfortably against his side.

The goddess is safe in his presence from any harm that would dare to even look her way, “This reminds me of simpler times, before I became so involved in my work.” Anubis’ tone is far away, his eyes gazing at the stars above them, “We are like planets in opposite orbits, coming together and drifting apart in cycles. I am embarrassed to admit that it’s taken the threat of an enigmatic foe to inspire some reflection on my choices and actions, but I have been thinking about my place among mortals, about our brothers and sister and about you.”

Anubis stops beside his sleek black car, leaning against the side and allowing his hands to cup Bastet’s face affectionately. The dark gaze that met her earlier is alight with love and honesty and his words are dipped in an aged melancholy, ”I can not envision a life where I idly stand by in the face of injustices. I cannot fathom turning my back on the descendants of our people that need my help, and so I must continue with this duty. But I cannot imagine being able to carry on in any measure without you here, Bastet. I am a lesser man than I was a god, and as a god, I was cast aside many times, but I have learned in this endless existence that change and growth are not kept far away from our grasps. My heart aches for the mortals, but it beats for you Bast, and I only wish to prove that to you in the coming days, if you will allow me.” Anubis finishes with a deep inhale and a small smile settled on his lips.

“Anubis…” His name is a breathless prayer that spirals into a mantra that gallops recklessly betwixt her ribs aching to confine her heart. The struggle is nearly euphoric, her voice carrying silken intonations of yearning, “There are days and nights where I want nothing more, I fear these mortal times, I am fearful of this sudden reaper that’s stalking after our souls and what it means. I know what you feel that you must do, I may not have always agreed, but I understand. I want to protect them too.” She smooths her palms against the planes of his chest, memory serving their path whilst electricity bounces from her gestures, the subtle twinge of attraction, desire, and need sparkling from her fingertips.

“We are nothing like we once were, but if I could rewrite the tales of our divinity, I would.” There’s power and abandon flung upon her statement, sinking deep into the gold of her eyes that bury themselves lost and forgotten into the darkness of his gaze. Against the warning that sounds off in her head much like a funeral tole for the damned fools of love, the Feline Goddess surrenders to the God of Death. Likened to smoldering embers fanned to life, she whispers, “Death may come for me tomorrow, and I would not hold any regrets, so long as I can share this night with you.”

It’s there in her voice: love. The promises of their confessions, of the words they share, and this moment in time suspended just for them. A creature of life and song and one of death and sanction that merge beyond their godly and mortal limitations to bask in the eternal bonds of man and woman. For that moment, Bastet cast aside the anguish of her lonely nights that sired his likeness in her dreams and allowed the warmth of his touch and words to melt into the very depths of her soul that shone so brightly then, just for him.

With their promises for better days invoked, Anubis seals the moment with a soft meeting of their lips. There’s an eagerness he holds back, giving his all into a kiss would further set back their arrival to Imentet’s gathering and she was a woman better left not waiting. Reluctantly he parts their sweet affections, his caress along her face lingers a moment longer before he’s breaking the enchantment of their proximity by opening the car door, “We’ll set off like bandits in the night once again, for the treasures of tea and laughter.” He can’t pass up a chance for another stolen kiss before he joins her taking his place behind the wheel, a smile he cannot hide tugging the corners of his lips upward, “I’m glad the winds of the changing season carried you my way, Malikati”

How long has it been since they last kissed? Touched? Or the last moment where he smiled so. Bastet couldn’t contain that bubble of laughter that escaped so suddenly, her heart and body lightened at the moment from endless days of lonely burden. She settled in his car easily, but not before she gave the shadows a glance, finding that her familiars had already departed.

“Then lead us there, Malik! With the winds at our back, the night is ours to make.”

It was like stepping into the past, almost, being here with him and suspended high on love, promises, and sealed kisses of entanglement. The purr of the vehicle lulls her into bliss and every so often their eyes would clash and unabashed Bastet would gaze upon his mouth where he had stolen her breath and heart (again) just moments before. It’s the promising evening that prevents her from setting upon him with that ravenous appetite the stews away in her belly, coming low and bringing a powerful quiver up the links of her spine. He guides them through traffic seamlessly and with ease and even in such a mortal gesture, it’s perfectly controlled and bound with an order that no mere man could obtain.

With the tea house quickly coming into view she feels a sudden and prickling sensation of unease, undoubtedly Imentet would be pleased to see her, and the cats have missed being apart of social gatherings of her kith and kin, but there’s the guilt of having been away for so long that sidles her anxiety. She quickly glances to her phone whilst Anubis places his car to park -- even that is perfect, fluid, as he lines up perfectly between painted lines -- and notices an unread email, within her personal inbox no less. She deigns to read it later, following the silhouette outside tinted windows that comes to her side and opens the door for her, old habits, she muses with a delicate smile.

“It really has been so long,” she whispers, absently twirling a braid with her index finger in a quant sign of agitated emotes. Instantly her calves are met with entwined tails and soft fur, her eyes drawn down at the trio affectionately at her feet. “I bet you’re all excited to be here. Best behaviors, you’re the only cats allowed in such a place you know.” They mewl in eager response, trotting up to the doors and awaiting entrance at their leave, golden eyes cast upon them.

“Shall we?” She said, uneasy laughter plucking upon her vocals and bringing them an octave higher.

Anubis weaves his finger between hers, giving an affectionate squeeze, “They will all be glad to see you.” He offers in encouragement before leading them forward. The inside of the tea house was as welcoming as ever, the small space was big enough to host a decent sized crowd on the weekend night, and the chatter among tables never rose to a level that drowned out the live music coming from a dimly lit corner of the room.

“She’s waiting downstairs for y’all. Have fun down there Kai, and it’s great to see you finally getting back into the dating scene.” The familiar young woman offered a playful smile and wag of her brows before she was twirling off to tend to her patrons.

“Everyone always seems so involved in my personal affairs.” Anubis mutters with a small chuckle as he takes the stairs to the basement floor. The room greets them with subtle incense and visions of their homelands framed and painted on the walls, “Your favorite brother has arrived, and even before Ammit has had a chance to bulldoze her way here? Dare I take the overall favorite spot from her?” Anubis calls out in a casual tone to his sister, “It’s good to see you Imentet.”

The Little Marjoram is like stepping into an entirely different world and with it comes the witness and renewal of an entirely different man. Anubis’ gestures are soft betwixt her own, woven deep and anchoring to reality despite the flutter in her belly like frantic butterflies. It crests and falls before becoming lodged within her throat to watch him evolve to someone so familiar and comfortable in these graces. Bastet’s glance is stolen over her shoulder for only a second to where a young woman is intermingled with many patrons, but not before she offered the goddess a wink and a smile -- genuine it was. It brought her statement unto a threshold in Bastet’s mind whilst they descended downstairs where the world shifted once more.

Bastet felt a euphoric blessing of coming home, magical tendrils wove themselves among her braids and flitted over her shoulders and went southward upon her spine. Through her arm, down to their connection that only amplified the electricity their bond shared. It was a reminder to earlier, blessed times, of festivals of life and death; renewal and respite, and the sun where it burned and scorched and chased. It reminds her of who she is and who she is with and what once was.

Imentet is a vision and so Bastet takes this moment to bask in the familial affection that bounces from their greetings, at least until her cats trot merrily among their heels, mewling eagerly for attention among those who have gathered. It’s their eagerness that encourages her own steps and without her former hesitation, Bastet’s face is woven in a smile that brightens endlessly:

“I second that; it’s so good to see you. I regret having been away for so long.” On that notion she retrieves the gifts she’s prepared. “I’ve brought some things for you, and --” she laughs, watching as Cleopatra sways on her hindquarters, preparing to launch herself into her arms “ -- the cats have missed you terribly it seems.”
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KZOMBI3 𝖍𝖎𝖙 𝖎𝖙 𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖑 𝖎𝖙 𝖇𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖐𝖘

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ʜᴏᴇs, sǫᴜᴀᴅ ᴜᴘ



After her well earned meal and heart to heart discussion with the Egyptian goddess, Laz found herself wandering towards the club only after shooting a text to the honorary hoe squad inviting them over for the four d's; drinks, dancing, dick and drama.

To: honorary hoes🌟💖
ayy, swing by the jj need some advice. dick troubles. drinks on me


Pleased with the message she soon found herself unlocking the backdoor to the club and let herself in, delighting in the mundane tasks of getting the place operational for the evening. A few notifications in the form of instagram posts and snaps told the Aztec that Herc would be throwing another one of his infamous parties. "Maybe we can head back that way later...?' the temptation was not lost on her and any form of distraction from a certain Grecian War God would do her wonders. Now all she had to do was wait on Freya and Eros and she started by pulling some whiskey off the top shelf.

To say that Freya was down in the dumps was an understatement.

After the meeting with Odin that morning and for the rest of the day, a dark, moody cloud of gloom had been hanging over the girl's head. The doubts and insecurities she fought so fiercely to keep at bay came back with a vengeance, taking the opportunity to strike now that the target's defenses had been weakened after a hit to their ego. No matter how hard she tried, the little voice in her head continued to drill the same old script... She was a goddess of war who hadn't seen combat since the siege. A goddess of fertility unable to carry her last child to term. A goddess of love having spent centuries eluded by it. The lady of the Norse pantheon had been reduced to a pitiful young woman who drowned her sorrows in strawberry cheesecake ice cream and Xanax pills, and who tried to fill the empty spaces of her heart frequenting the beds of strangers.

How fucking pathetic.

This bad mood was the reason why Freya was, surprisingly, home on a Saturday night, wearing an oversized T-shirt and curled up in bed alone watching rom-coms. She had just taken another bite of the Ben & Jerry’s ice cream pint she'd been devouring when her phone chimed, signaling the arrival of a new text message. Frowning, the brunette picked up the device, ready to fling it out the window and off the balcony if it was Odin asking for another ‘catch-up’ again. But when she realized the sender was Tlaz asking her and Eros to meet up, the young woman's mood immediately brightened.

Be there in an hr! 😘❤ Freya quickly texted back, wasting no time in jumping up from the bed and starting the preparations for a night out.


A sigh escaped Eros as he pulled his expensive, yet practical, SUV into a parking space in the empty lot. Seattle’s nightlife had yet to venture out, or perhaps they had all decided to attend Jackson Drake’s impromptu rager.

“Fuckin’ Herc. The grumble rumbled through his chest switching from his social media app to his messages, scrolling along the phone past the worried texts from his clients and network partners to the conversation with Apollo.
To: Sunshine
Looks like we’ll need to rain check that hot date? I’ll be over for the party after a quick stop at JJ.


With the blue bubble sent the God of Love clambered out of his vehicle, swiping hands along the breast of his peacoat and started his way to the Jade Jaguar. The annoyance of the party, and some last minute schedule changes in his career quickly dissipated with each step forward, there wasn’t time for annoyance, his friend needed his expert advice and he would gladly step up.

The doors to the Jade Jaguar were heavy, which meant they were high quality and Eros appreciated that. That fine quality extended well into the actual building, which was big without losing it’s feeling of being an intimate space. Eros walked his fingers along the pristine bar that greeted him, his eyes focused on the beauty already hard at work whipping up the first of many drinks to be had in the night.

“I think I’ll have to sneak in here before the doors open more often. I bet the drinks taste better without a sleaze trying to slip his fingers up the skirt of a waitress besides me, andmy knuckles would certainly fare better.” A chuckle fell from his lips as he slid easily on to a plush stool, “Four D’s, huh? Guess I should start with something strong then if you’re having dick problems Azzy.”

A roll of her lips between her teeth was enough a response in itself to anyone other than Eros and she knew it. Nonetheless the old nickname brought a smile to her face and pushed the nerves of the future conversation to the back. At least for now. The whiskey helped. "You wouldn't be the first to beat the shit outta clients in recent times, had an incident just a few days ago. Kinda the reason why I needed to talk with you both," throwing back her amber liquid she reached below the counter of the bar and pulled two more glasses, filled them with a sphere of ice before eyeing the man before her all but lounged about on her stool. "Still sucking down kamikazes like they're water?" Laz didn't wait for his response, of course he did if the knowing glint in his eyes were anything to go off of. And so she climbed atop the back counter, her small stature being absolute shit when it came to grabbing anything off high shelves, and pulled down an onyx bottle, engraved in bone white letters of the brand and a number of milk thistles on the cap.

After mixing his drink, and a Love Potion for Frey, the Goddess of lust slid the drink across the bar top and placed it before his waiting grasp. Laz snatched up the bottle of Pincer Shanghai Strength and began to pour herself a more than generous dose of poison before leaning across the bar, glass hanging precariously between her fingers. "Any new dick stories you wanna share 'fore Frey gets here?"

Eros' lips slipped into a mischievous smirk, but he let her question hang in the air. The fruity mix of vodka and fruit juices beckoned to him and he’d have to quench that thirst first. The sweetness was a much needed sin to satiate the woes of the day for the time being, until he could get his hands on a certain Sun God later that night. For now the alcohol provided to him by the best barkeep in Seattle would be a very suitable substitute. The glass made a small clink as the base met the surface of the bar, with his hand freed Eros reached forward to tug affectionately on a perfectly curled ringlet, “Less new dick, and more reclaimed dick, nothing beats a century long reunion in the making like sex for lunch, dinner and dessert.” Eros let out a wistful sigh as he leaned back away from Tlaz again, it had barely been twenty-four hours and he was yearning again for Apollo, “But I didn’t come to brag about my spectacular choices. I came to hear about your terrible ones, and offer what I can to you.”

“Gossiping and judging each other’s bad choices? Sign me the fuck up!”

As if on queue, the missing piece of the trio had made her arrival, surprising everyone by being at least ten minutes ahead of schedule. “No need to clap, loves. Just revel in the joy of my incomparable presence,” Freya declared brightly as she waltzed to the bar and gave her friends a playful little twirl, in contrast to how she was truly feeling on the inside. She hoped that the self-medication and being with her friends would help boost her spirits somewhat.

Smiling, the Norse goddess took a seat on the empty stool next to Eros and addressed her beloved Tlaz. “So what’s up, Peaches? Is Sugar Bear already boring you to tears with his bragging?” the brunette chuckled, shooting the handsome man beside her a wink to assure him she was just joking as per usual.

Eros raised an amused eyebrow at Freya’s jest, but calling him boring no words further from the truth could have been spoken. “I could never bore Azzy. In fact I had to entertain her while we awaited your delayed arrival, darling. Incomprehensible certainly explains dressing like a slutty school girl and showing up high as a kite. Apparently the SOS wasn’t just necessary for Azzy.” Eros voice went from playful to worried as he looked over the woman who sat next to him, “Alright, well let’s intoxicate ourselves as we get on with our woes, Azzy summoned us here and I quite like hearing the sinful stories our filthy girl shares.”

Eyes like rich pools of honey rolled about inside the Aztec's skull, dipping her head a curtain of curls shielding her bemused smirk from the likes of them. The atrocious nicknames Fre came up with never failed to set her face alight with mirth of the most unbecoming kind. "Boring isn't the word I would have chosen to use..." muffled voice trickled from behind her lips as she straightened her spine pulling herself to her full height and sliding the pink drink towards the newcomer. This would be easier than expected, Eros seemed in high spirits-- albeit a little annoyed but overall glowing-- and Freya, well, Fre was just high.
'Perfect'

"Alright, so," it was then she turned her full attention towards Eros more so than the Norse beauty, "Your father came onto me the other night," she couldn't help but roll her lip between her teeth, bringing her glass to her lips in another shot hitting the back of her throat. The burn doesn't even affect them, not this swill, but if enough is consumed and at the rate she's going something was bound to take effect. "And I didn't mind it, I just, I don't know what to do..." there wasn’t any guilt felt within her bones as she thought there might have been, given the relationship between one of her closest friends and his father. However being the embodiment of Sin Eater relieved her of any base emotions. His response would give her everything she needed, she just prayed that it wasn’t to sever his tie from her.

With a flick of her gaze, Tlaz gauged Fre’s reaction. She had suspicions of her previous encounters with the war god, and she was a close confidant of the priestess, it only made sense to have her there and privy to the knowledge as well.

“What do you not mean, ‘you don’t know what to do’? You shag him, of course!” Freya replied immediately, taking the pink cocktail her bestie had so lovingly made for her, downing it in a few sips and sliding it back across the bar to Tlaz for a refill. “It’s a no-brainer, really. The man’s an absolute beast in bed: and I mean that in the best of ways. Even if it doesn’t go anywhere, it’s definitely a good experience to have.” She was talking, of course, of the time she and Ares had spent together on Halloween many years ago. Her she-devil costume and the alcohol had lowered the man’s inhibitions enough to let desire take over and consume them whole for one intense, passionate and unforgettable night.

Eros' face morphed from confusion to disgust as the conversation carried on and left little for him to question. At first he was amazed that Tlaz had found Freya’s father, but that was quickly cleared up when the sex fiend herself spoke up. Freya was a whore, everyone knew that but she didn’t give off the Greek Trademark vibes, and so that meant Tlaz was talking about- “ARES?” his voice was loud and interrupted Freya’s reminiscing of sluttier days. Just saying his name left a film of distaste on his tongue, his handsome feature screwing up into an obvious display of disagreement. There was no way, there had to be someone else in the room, someone past him that Tlaz had been focused on. Eros looked to his left and then spun on the stool to look behind him and saw a whole lot of nothing.

“Tlaz.” His voice was accusatory as he turned back to face the Aztec, “Please tell me I’m jumping to the wrong conclusions.” Eros almost begged her leaning forward to peer deeper in her eyes as if he’d find Ashton Kutcher hiding in her brown irises, but there would be no ‘punk’d’ surprises jumping out at him tonight. With a groan he threw his drink back and only shook his head for a moment. What the fuck was he supposed to say?

“What do you mean by ‘came onto you’? And spare me the dirty details I’ll throw myself outside of the Colossus’ range if you dive into them.”

Tawny hands, decorated with bands of tarnished metal, moved on their own shaky accord to grasp the stemless conical glass from where Freya had tossed it, setting it off to the side as she prepared another roseate drink. Of her close knit group of friends, Freya would be the one to have the most physical and intimate response to her predicament, as she expressed her notion for just getting it over and done with. It would be ignorant to dismiss the notion. Though the pure disgust and disappointment in her and the situation radiating from the blonde male was enough to make her flinch under his gaze.

A sigh upon her lips, unspoken words danced on her tongue as she rolled around the right words. Before she knew it she was confessing like all those who came before her altar to pray and ask for purification. Laz mentioned how it was only supposed to be her taking action in dressing his superficial wounds and how he spoke about Aphrodite and her mist, "Which was a shit show in it of itself," she threw the cryptic explanation to the brunette, along with her new drink, seeing as how she was not present that morning. When she got to the part where they shared a passionate lip lock she paused, she could feel her hands shaking and where her confusion took root within her chest like tangle vines seeking out a life force to smother.

Leaning forward against the counter she ran those same tawny fingers through her curls, tugging at the roots in order to ground her in something. "He kissed me. Something about not seeing who he was supposed to or whatever in that fucking misty visions. Of course it couldn't be me," a broken attempt at a laugh passed through her, the shaking ever present still though more so out of contempt, "Because he already has someone. Your old man just got caught up in a moment of convenience that happened to involve me since he just pushed me off and bolted..."

The Sin Eater pushed back up from the bar top, stretching like a cat in a window, rolling her neck before plopping back onto her elbows and staring at her friends with what she hoped was a mask of indifference. She was over the incident, over the feelings. She had to be. It was a mistake. "No Colossal suicides please, I need my best man to help me drown, and Freya can only do so much," it was her attempt at a blasé attitude to the situation, which she punctuated with a cheeky pout while gesturing to the numerous bottles of booze behind her.

Disgust melted into an easier to digest neutrality. Eros had to remind himself that Tlaz had asked them to come here because she needed help, and it was wholly unhelpful to put his feelings for his “dad” onto her. So he listened, he held her gaze when she looked at him and nodded his head in encouragement for her to continue her recollection of events. Able to set aside his personal indignation, he felt a protective anger rise in him as her voice quivered with uncertainty and an insecurity flitted in her averted gaze.

You are more than a ‘momentary convenience’, Tlaz. You’re a fucking goddess, literally, and someone that doesn’t kiss the ground you walk on isn’t deserving of you.” Eros spoke with conviction but ended up chuckling at his own words, “Despite me being grossed out that my ‘dad’ is giving you the eyes, if all you want is to fuck him, then yeah, what Freya said: get it out of your system so you can move on to better. There’s a person out there for everyone. Sometimes you find them right away, and other times you gotta try on a few before you get the perfect one. Like a great pair of jeans that hug your ass just right, it takes time.” Eros gave a warm smile as he leaned forward, the bar between them prevented him from wrapping Tlaz in his arms but did not stop his affectionate tap on her nose, “Don’t rush into anything, and who knows your knight in shining armor might just reveal himself when you least expect it.”

Freya had carefully listened to Tlaz and Eros’ exchange while sipping her second cocktail more slowly. She had to admit, the developing story was certainly providing plenty of entertainment already. Nothing spelled ‘drama’ better than one friend getting hit on and passionately kissed by the taken father of the other friend, and said friend being completely horrified by the prospect. In Eros’ defense, Freya was sure she would also be put off if her father came onto one of her best friends-- especially if he was in a relationship with another woman. But in Tlaz’ defense, Ares had been the one to seek her out, and not the other way around. So if the chance to take things further presented itself, why not take it? It’s not like Tlaz had anything to lose. What Eros and Ares’ girlfriend didn’t know couldn’t hurt them. What Freya did agree on, though, was the young man’s statement that Tlaz would indeed find the right person for her. She was beautiful, successful, and a hell of a woman. The man that eventually got her would need to count his blessings for the rest of his existence-- be it mortal or godly.

"Damn… Where was this motivational speech yesterday before I ran off like a dumbass to Father Asshole's place in the middle of the night?" Freya finally spoke up with a loud cackle, hoping it would downplay just how furious at herself she really was for falling back into known toxic patterns.

”I don’t know, I think booty call is a cute color on you… What do you think, Azzy?” Eros replied with a cute smirk on his lips, playful mischief twinkling in his dark eyes.

Not one to pass up a good razz on one of her closest friends, Laz finished off her own drink, trying to use the glass to hide a cheeky yet telling look that slipped across her features. Licking her lips clean of the residual vodka the former priestess tilted her head in acknowledgement to the two before her, "Definitely one of the better looking colors Fre has in her ensemble of choices..."

Freya rolled her eyes at both her friends’ answer, although her smirk mirrored Eros’ own. "I know it’s cute! But even the best of players get tired of the game at some point,” she replied matter-of-factly, once again sliding her empty glass in Tlaz’s direction across the bar and turning her full attention onto her friends. "And this MVP’s definitely tired of it. Someone induct me to the fucking Hall Of Fame already so I can retire in peace.”

A prominent pout and a roll of her bottom lip between her teeth was the only indication of an answer towards her fellow brunette as Laz went about fixing her, and her company, another round of drinks. The vodka flowed freely from the neck of the bottle within her grasp and she refused to stop her words spewing from her mouth, much like she refused to stop her heavy handed pour, "How many times have you stated you were done with a man to only end up back between their sheets?" Her words weren't intended to bite but even she flinched at their misinterpreted implications. "Fre, you know how to use that cunt of yours, too well it seems. It's not like you need them. More like the opposite rings true." She punctuated her spiel with a slide of the cocktails across her bar, leaning forward with a wink before diving headfirst back into her own drink of choice.

"A shame you're wasting time on the Allfather. Isn't there like, anyone else?"

Eros snickers into his glass at Tlaz’s word. She speaks the truth, but her question could be asked of herself as well. Odin and Ares? Apparently after some hundreds of years roaming the earth, good taste and 20-20 vision had been claimed by time. “There are plenty of ‘anyone else’s’ for both of you-“

Tlaz could feign ignorance all she wanted but the truth was there as she mumbled into her nearly emptied glass, “Point me in their direction then…”

Eros feigns a glare at Tlaz before turning his attention to Freya, pushing her glass closer to her and raising an eyebrow, “Odin is a peculiar choice, Freya-- even for a CEHoe like you. What’s the problem? Having wet dreams about Jan again that you can’t shake?”

The unexpected mention of Janus took Freya by surprise, and there was no way of hiding how she flinched at the sound of his name. She was thankful that there was no glass on her hands, because it would’ve clattered to the floor and shattered into a million tiny pieces-- much like her heart had whenever the Roman Ice King had put an end to their heated affair so many centuries ago. Why Eros had chosen to bring up that particularly painful part of her life was beyond Fre, but she wasn’t about to show exactly how much the topic bothered her.

Janus can go crawl into a hole and die, for all I care,” Freya spat, venom dripping from her lips when speaking about the man responsible for her last big disappointment. No matter how hard she tried, there was no denying those negative feelings still bubbled underneath the surface, waiting for any and every chance to erupt. “But if you know of any available gods willing to be faithful and commit to a healthy, stable relationship with one woman, please don’t hesitate to give them mine and Tlaz’ number. We would greatly appreciate your assistance with this matter.”

Eros lifted his cup in a ‘cheers’ motion before slamming it back, “There is love in the air, ladies. Try opening your hearts instead of your legs and you might just capture it.” Eros let a deep chuckle exit his parted lips as he ruffled Freya’s hair and slapped an obnoxious kiss to her cheek before turning his attention to Tlaz and giving her an equally annoying show of affection, “But I have a sun god waiting for me and alcohol only provides so much relief to my long day. Don’t drink your woes away and end up in the Allfather’s bed again, Fre-- and please don’t make yourself my stepmother, Tlaz.” Eros made a grand gesture with his arms as he approached the doors, “Call me again when you’d like to hear the details of my flourishing love life. See you later!”

“Show-off…” Freya muttered under her breath as she watched the smug Eros make his exit, leaving the two women to their own devices. Sighing, the brunette turned her attention to Tlaz again. “But seriously, though: he’s got a point. We do deserve better than what we’re getting. Men-- mortal and godly-- are just complete and utter pieces of shit anyway…” she declared bitterly, downing yet another Love Potion in a few gulps.

Seeing Eros strut out the heavy doors and having his words hang in the air struck a chord within the owner of the Jaguar. Laz stood there still leaning against the bar swirling the remaining contents of her glass listening to Freya and trying to intake their words and process them. It isn't like she doesn't know she can do better, she probably can. With Eros motivational yet brutally honest pep talk she definitely felt more like the goddess she is and less of the doormat that's been taking over her body for the better part of five years. It's more the fact that these feelings came out of nowhere and inserted themselves in her subconscious. But her words were true, even if they were spoken with joking intonations, 'When will I stop being some spur of the moment and find someone who wants me for me?' Immediately her memory was assaulted with flashes of faces she once believed were there to stay. The smell of roasted honey dancing before her nose, enticing her and making her long for their touch once more. Beings that held a special place in her heart, the ones she thought were going to be different. They weren't. They were gone, lost to history and she was still here.

The glass now sat there empty as Laz reached for the onyx bottle, opting to forego drinking etiquette and instead wrapped her lips around the bottle's neck, "You know, I wasn't created to find something permanent, nothing I do is to be for me alone, always answering the whims of those who seek and call," her eyes swept the length of the room before coming to rest on the woman still sitting before her, "You're right though, we deserve better and I think it's time I do something entirely for me," a renewed fire burned within her at her words and rewarded herself with another large swig.

Before Freya could do more than give her friend an appreciative grunt, her phone chimed inside her bag. Frowning in suspicion again, the young woman pulled out the device and glanced at the screen.

From:Hot Shot
If you’re not too busy, let’s get a drink.


A flash of excitement immediately lit up the features of Freya’s beautiful face. Leave it to her favorite Aztec to have the most impeccable timing when it came to their therapeutic meetings.

Smiling, the Norse goddess rose from her seat and turned to Tlazōlteōtl. “As much as I want to stick around to rag on those walking, talking annoyances we call men some more, duty calls...” she half-explained with a little shrug, offering no more details about the plans currently in development. She was sure her friend wouldn’t exactly be too happy or approving if she knew what Fre and her brother got themselves into in their spare time.

Other than the empty glasses decorating the counter top, and now the chiming of a phone going off, Tlazōlteōtl would have believed herself to be alone at closing time. However, the notification and words that soon followed after knocked the former priestess back to the present, the lingering smell of vanilla clinging to her subconscious. "Riiiight," a playful eye roll and a devilish smirk made permanent residence across her tawny features, the bottle of booze in hand ready for another tilt up to her lips, "Go. Have fun, hopefully the poor soul doesn't give you too much shit," there was no stopping the teasing lilt that pranced through the air between them. As Freya blew her a kiss and went off on her merry way, her own phone beckoned her to dive deep into her contacts and just do something, what though is the question. Laz resigned herself to not sit around idly tonight and enjoy herself.

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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by Venus
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Venus Save a horse, ride a cowboy. -Melissa

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therapy

A @Venus & @beetlemoth Collaboration
Featuring Freya & Xolotl




As soon as Freya had received Xolotl’s text message invitation to meet up, she knew what to expect and where the rest of her night would go. Sure: by running off with a guy, she was basically proving her friends’ point of being an eternal booty call. But what they didn’t know was that things between the Norse goddess and the Aztec god were different. There was a friendship involved-- one based on the first-hand knowledge of the feeling of loneliness, the yearning for long-lost lovers, secrets kept for centuries and a lifetime of appearances needing to be upheld in order to maintain a certain status or image. If there was someone else (other than the Roman god Pluto) that Freya cherished beyond measure, it was Xolotl.

Once she was safely nestled inside her SUV, the young woman tapped her phone screen a few times and placed a call to Xolotl. "Before I say yes or no to your proposal: do you plan on kicking me out tomorrow morning after tossing me some McDonald’s money on the kitchen counter for breakfast like a meth head you picked up at a bus stop?" she asked him, her voice bristling as she was clearly still peeved about Odin's actions that morning. Although she knew this wouldn’t be the case, she still needed to be certain beyond belief. The last thing she wanted was a repeat of her last meeting.

Freya… Have I ever been the type?” Xolotl’s voice is droll, though not offended, and he arches a quizzical eyebrow even if Freya is not there to see it. Taking another sip of his wine, he watches the reflection in the glass pane before him, at his colleagues’ merrymaking. A few of them had started talking about going to a bar downtown, and he’d excused himself for the moment to take this call. “Stay however long you’d like.” I don’t care, he nearly says. “Where are you right now?”

Atta boy! the beaming beauty couldn’t help but call out in her head. In the many times she and Xolotl had been together, he had been nothing short of a gentleman-- a trait the Norse goddess had realized was rare for the gods. It was a welcome (and much needed) change of pace considering the morning’s mishap.

“I’m at the Jade Jaguar parking lot. I just finished having some drinks with Eros and Tlaz, but they’ve got other shit to do, so I’ll be free for the rest of the night,” the brunette answered, pulling down the sun visor to carefully inspect her reflection in the mirror. “Where do you want to meet up?”

Xolotl makes a humming noise when the Jade Jaguar is mentioned. He’s been there his fair share, mostly to catch up with his sister, sometimes to entertain clients, but he’s never really been interested in its services himself. Still, the liquor was good, and he appreciated Tlaz’s ability to run a business the way she does.

“Let’s see…” He trails off for a moment, turning his wrist around to glance down at the timepiece there: 9:37 P.M. Still early, then. No need to rush things. “How about that place downtown, the Amaranthine? It’s quiet, upscale —– I think we could use some of that, don’t you?”

“Ugh, fucking tell me about it!” she whined, thinking about the negative headspace she had found herself in. Quiet, upscale and quality time in Xolo's company was definitely something that could help boost her spirits. "Anyway, The Amaranthine sounds perfect! I'll see you soon, okay?"

At Freya’s response, Xolotl allows a faint smile to grace his lips. “Good. I’ll see you then.”

It doesn’t take long at all for Xolotl to get to the Amaranthine. The hard part was convincing his coworkers to go on celebrating without him. His car, a powerful yet understated Audi RS7, glides smoothly along the asphalt, easily maneuvering through evening traffic until finally making a right into a subterranean parking garage.

He stays in the car for a few more moments after shutting off the engine, feeling the rumble beneath the wheel, under his fingers, die down. When he finally does step out of the vehicle, the door shuts behind him with a muffled thump, and he starts making his way to the adjoining lift lobby. The heels of his Oxfords click softly with every step he takes, the only sound in the garage apart from the distant screech of tires and buzzing fluorescent lights.

All of that is completely silenced when he steps into the elevator, the doors sliding soundlessly closed after he presses the button for the fiftieth floor. Left alone with his thoughts, it’s all Xolotl can do to not try and question the wisdom of his decisions.

Was it a good idea, meeting Freya like this? It’s been some time since their last encounter, and yet, his memories of that time have yet to fade. Not the conversations between them, soft and low. Or the electric touch of Freya’s fingers against his skin. Truth be told, he doesn’t quite know how he’d ended up tangled up in this mess in the first place, but he doesn’t have time to think about it before the elevator reaches its destination.

The Amaranthine is located at the very top of the Marriott, overlooking much of the city and offering a scenic view of the iconic Space Needle. The place is dimly lit, though not uncomfortably so, with a large, glittering chandelier hanging from the ceiling like a constellation. Everything else is equally as lavish —– plush armchairs, gilded flatware, and tables spaced far enough apart to ensure the patrons’ discussions remain private. It’s a popular haunt amongst the white-collar demographic of Seattle, catering to a variety of business meetings and other such liaisons.

Xolotl isn’t here for that, though, even if he does have a terrible habit of letting work encroach on his personal time.

No, he needed to relax, to let loose, somehow. And through some strange sequence of events, Freya had slowly become one of the only people he trusted to witness this other side of him, the side he usually kept hidden away like it’s something to be ashamed of.

Xolotl doesn’t falter, simply drawing in a bracing breath before making his way to the bar.

“What can I get you, sir?”

He takes a moment to consider. “Mezcal. On the rocks.”

The bartender nods and begins to prepare his drink. Unconsciously, Xolotl smooths a hand over the countertop — Calacatta marble, some part of his brain supplies — and his fingers start to drum a steady rhythm against its surface.

He didn’t have to wait long, though. By the time he was halfway through his drink, the long-haired brunette he’d been expecting was making her arrival to The Amaranthine.

One of the benefits of being a single woman with an active, unpredictable social life and no small children was that the spacious black Navigator Freya drove around doubled as a mobile dressing room whenever needed. The trunk and back seat held a selection of outfits for every occasion, ranging from sweats, hoodies and sneakers to evening gowns with matching Louboutines. Upon receiving Xolotl’s invitation to The Amaranthine, the young woman knew her current choice of wardrobe wouldn’t cut it, so she’d been quick in disposing of the slutty school girl outfit in favor of a long-sleeved, form fitting white mini dress with matching beige thigh-high boots. Appropriate enough for the upscale setting, but sexy enough to showcase her best attributes.

With that flirtatious smile in place, Freya made a beeline straight to where Xolotl was waiting for her. “Hey there, Hot Shot,” she greeted him as soon as she was within earshot, wrapping her arms around him for a brief hug and planting a soft kiss on his cheek before taking a seat on the empty booth next to him. “Long time no see, don’t you think? I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me. Work keeping you busy?”

Xolotl isn’t quite taken aback by the kiss — after all, there’s only one person he was expecting, and such an affectionate greeting was part and parcel of sharing an acquaintance with somebody like Freya — but he still finds himself tensing up a little, almost unwittingly. It’s familiar, somehow, yet unmistakably different, dredging up old memories like driftwood on the tide.

He can’t dwell on it for long, though, knows as well as anyone that the past is dangerous territory. So instead, he wills himself to set it aside, at least for the moment, and schools his features into something resembling amusement.

“I guess you could say that.” Xolotl doesn’t offer much by way of explanation, just lifts his shoulders in a shrug. He has been busy. Working. Thinking. Hephaestus’ death still weighed heavily on his mind, a constant reminder of the oppressive influence of the Colossus. But he doesn’t want to talk about that right now. Not with Freya, anyway. Even if the Norse goddess already knew about what happened, this was neither the time nor place.

He clears his throat, then, motions one of the servers over to take Freya’s order, whatever it may be. Xolotl only begins to speak once the two of them are alone again, voice low and steady. “You look good. How have you been?”

That observation made the young woman snort with disbelief. It was obvious that Xolotl wasn’t in a talkative mood, but his attempt at steering the conversation to her was comical. “Well, shit. If you still think I look good even when I’ve been poppin’ xanny bars like TicTacs all day, then I guess I really am a goddess of beauty after all,” she snorted, taking a sip of her cosmopolitan. “Which, by the way, should be enough for you to imagine just how excellent I’ve been doing today.”

“Well, excuse me for wanting a civil conversation.” Xolotl heaves out a laborious sigh, but it’s clear from the smile on his lips that any aggravation is purely for show. When Freya takes a sip of her drink, he mirrors her action after a second’s delay, bringing his own glass up to his lips. The mezcal tastes like smoke on his tongue and burns on the way down, a grounding sensation that reminds him of what they’re really here for.

Like a switch that’s been flipped, he suddenly grows serious. His gaze is steady, unwavering, though the ghost of a smile remains. “Really, though. If there’s something wrong, I’d like to hear about it.”

Instead of answering right away, Freya couldn’t help but let out a deep sigh. After knowing each other for so long, the brunette knew she could be open and honest with Xolotl about anything that bothered her-- no matter how big or small. Anything she expressed to him would be received with no judgement, and the best attempts at guidance and comfort would be made. But when you spent your life putting up the façade of a carefree party girl, it was hard to open up even to those you trusted.

“It’s more of the same, really…” she began, shifting her eyes to the city skyline visible through the nearest window so Xolotl couldn’t see the regret in them. That made it easier for the story to flow out of Freya’s mouth like the rush of a river. “Odin texted me late last night, and instead of telling him to go fuck himself I dropped what I was doing to go over to his place, only to have him kick me out the next morning because ‘he had other things to focus on’,” she scoffed with distaste while shaking her head, feeling angry again just thinking about the incident. “And, I mean, I get that it’s my own fault for taking the bait in the first place. And, sure: I might have overreacted when I made a little scene before I left his place. But I was just so pissed, you know? I was upset that he treated me like I was this fleeting toy thing that he could just use up and toss away whenever he felt like it. As if being the mother of his favorite fucking child didn’t mean a thing anymore.”

Xolotl doesn’t say a word, but simply listens, rolling the deliciously cool glass between his fingers. The movement itself is smooth, well-practiced, an old habit he finds himself returning to every time he’s faced with a dilemma.

On the surface, Freya’s problems were vastly different from his own, but the more he thought about it, the more he understood. She spoke of resentment, of feeling unwanted, both of which he’d experienced at one point or another in his long, execrated existence.

Xolotl, god of lightning, sickness, and misfortune. He’d paid the price for his cowardice, and it still wasn’t enough to shake off the guilt that followed him everywhere he went. Always hungry. Always baring its teeth in a snarl.

A mangy stray snapping at his heels.

He tears himself out of his introspection with a cough.

“I can see why you’d be upset.” It’s a neutral response, broad and almost infuriating in its vagueness, but Xolotl wasn’t quite done yet. Of course, he didn’t know Odin personally — much of his business was conducted outside his sphere of influence, and he always worked to steer clear of any conflict both in and out of his pantheon — but the way Freya described his treatment of her was enough to stir up a twinge of annoyance within him, a sense of… displeasure.

“He doesn’t have any business acting that way.” Like a spoiled child, he wants to say, but doesn’t. His disdain for the Allfather was already evident in the way he spoke, how the syllables rolled off his tongue. And when he does begin to talk again, Xolotl leans forward a little in his seat, head inclined in an inquisitive gesture. “But if he wants to, why indulge him? You have better things to do, don’t you?”

"I just felt lonely. Like, really, really lonely. I thought seeing someone would help with that-- even if it was him," Freya admitted, rolling her eyes at how pathetic she sounded. But it was true, and there was no point in trying to hide or deny it. Pouting, she turned her sad eyes to Xolotl again. "I hate coming home to an empty house and a cold bed. It makes me feel so unwanted. So… Unloved. Like I always give out my everything when I really fall for someone, but end up getting absolutely nothing that matters in return. As pathetic as it sounds, there’s an empty space in my chest that’s starting to eat me alive, and I don't know how else to numb the pain of it."

His brow furrows at Freya’s admission. In all their years of acquaintance, Xolotl has never seen the Norse goddess this vulnerable, so achingly sincere, and to be honest, he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

“I wish I knew what to tell you,” is all he can think of to say, but his mind continues to work, searching for something he can offer to Freya as a form of advice. To make up for the lull in conversation, he takes another sip of his drink, savouring it instead of finishing it all at once. Was this his way of stalling for time? Possibly. But Xolotl has always found it prudent to think before he speaks.

“Look, Freya. I’m no good at this, so… take it with a grain of salt.” It’s probably not a good sign, starting off with a disclaimer like this, but he powers through before doubt gets the better of him. The warm buzz steadily making its way through his system does its work lowering his inhibitions, thawing the cold, dispassionate facade he’d built his name upon. “I just don’t think you should be this concerned with being alone. And you’re not alone. You have people you trust, people who understand you.”

It’s what he tells himself, too, when the nights grow lonely and the days are long. And if Xolotl ignores the longing, the rose-tinted haze of the past, he can almost bring himself to believe it. But now, he just reaches for Freya’s hand, lacing her fingers with his own.

“You are worth something, you know? More than you believe.”

Xolotl's comforting words, along with his gentle touch and his mere presence, had been a soothing balsam for Freya's aching heart. As aware as she was of her self-worth (too aware, some might say) and the existence of people who cared for her, it was always greatly appreciated to have a verbal confirmation come from a cherished individual such as the Aztec god. When the doubts and negativity tried to drown her mercilessly, it was easy to lose sight and perspective of the things and beings who really mattered. And it was in moments like these when Freya was eternally grateful to have people like Xolotl be the lifeboat to bring her back to the safety of the shore.

"Thank you, love. And I hope you know that so are you," she answered, downing the rest of her drink before setting the empty glass atop the bar to focus her complete attention onto the man in front of her. "You don't have to say it for me to know that, sometimes, you feel just as lonely as I do. But you're not, okay?" the girl said, gently cupping his cheek with her free hand before continuing. "Just know that if you ever need anything, I'll be here for you. Be it as friends or lovers, for a listening ear, a drink, or a good fuck, and no matter the time or place. Always."

Would she really? Xolotl found that hard to believe, or maybe he didn’t want to. He’s never liked having to depend on others, to have to hinge his hopes on the whims and inclinations of someone else. Too many moving parts. Uncertainties. Xolotl was a man who valued control, and maybe that’s why he’s better off alone. He knows that. And yet, he had been the one to contact Freya, hadn’t he? He had been the one to pick up his phone and bring the both of them here. What did that say about him, then?

A soft hand against his cheek stops the roiling maelstrom of his thoughts dead in its tracks.

For a long moment, he doesn’t draw back or move closer, just stops, like he’s unsure of what to do. There’s a strange flicker in his eyes, something dark and almost… confused. And then, he’s surging ahead, pressing his lips to Freya’s own in a heated kiss, who was kissing him back with the same amount of passion and intensity. He tastes the vodka on her lips, mingled with the smoky edge of mezcal. A hand comes up to rest against Freya’s face, like he’s trying to pull her closer, but he breaks the connection before long, jaw set in a rigid line.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, though he doesn’t sound very apologetic at all. Xolotl shakes his head after a moment, breathing out a humorless huff of laughter. “You don’t have to worry about me, Fre. I get by just fine.”

Bullshit,” came Freya’s fast reply-- her tone a little bit brasher than she'd intended, but she knew that it had proven to be one of the most effective ways to get through to her friend. No one can do this alone. We all like to pretend that we can, but the reality of the situation is that not even the strongest can survive on their own. Now, the way I see it, is you have two options here, Hot Shot. One: you can cut the bullshit, stop lying to me and yourself, and we can go back to the room I'm almost certain you booked for us, to indulge in that therapy that will make us feel a hell of a lot less lonely. Or two: you can keep up the Superman charade, and we can both go home alone to spend another pathetic night wallowing in our own self misery. So, darling: what's it going to be?" she asked him, raising a questioning, defiant eyebrow in his direction.

Silently, Xolotl stares at Freya, thoughtful, as if he’s weighing his options. He could say no, that he’s not in the mood, and it would be true. He doesn’t know if he wants this, but at the same time, he doesn’t not want it either.

It’s… exasperating.

“You’re mouthy.” He says it in a way that’s more amused, more matter-of-fact than chiding. And somewhere deep within him, his sense of pride resents that. He hates how Freya believes she knows everything about him, hates how she’s right. Their relationship was one built on the back of mutual trust and shared desire for intimacy, though it came with one unsaid agreement: there would be no strings attached.

A wicked smile lit up the Norse goddess' features at Xolotl's observation. "I know," she smugly declared with a small shrug, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Most women would be offended by that statement: even if the tone of voice suggested that no negative connotation was meant in the first place. But, of course, Freya wasn't like most women. She was anything but ordinary. "And if you let me, I'll remind you of just how mouthy I can really be."

Sighing, he leans back in his seat, downing the rest of his drink in one smooth gulp before turning back to Freya.

“Well, you’re wrong about one thing. I don’t have a suite booked for tonight.” At this, Xolotl offers Freya a derisory smirk, absentmindedly brushing a lock of hair away from her face. “How about I take you home, and we just… see how things go?”

Excellent.

With that flirtatious smile still in place, Freya slid off her stool, placed her hands on Xolotl's thighs and seductively leaned forward. "Sounds like a plan," the brunette whispered in his ear before shifting her attention to his mouth. She let her warm breath tease the man before taking his lower lip between her teeth and gently nibbling it in that way she knew drove him to sin.

Xolotl can hardly resist rolling his eyes at Freya’s antics, but allows her to do as she pleases, shifting a little in his seat to give her more space to maneuver. It seemed to him that even after all these years, the Norse goddess — with all her sultry looks and honeyed words — hadn’t changed one bit.

“Freya…” he murmurs against her lips, and at the scrape of teeth, feels a bolt of molten heat shoot up his spine. All the while a part of him wonders: how did he end up here, in the middle of a busy bar, kissing Freya? As if on a tether, he pulls away suddenly, placing a firm hand on the side of Freya’s neck to still her movements, and looks her straight in the eye.

“Not here.” His words are quiet but clear, in a tone that leaves no room for argument. The hand he has on Freya’s neck shifts, moving to take her by the chin instead. For a moment, Xolotl is silent, dark and heavy-lidded eyes studying every inch of the goddess’ face, like he’s waiting for a reaction.

Just as she was skilled in the ways to provoke Xolotl, so was the Aztec god with the Norse goddess. There was nothing Freya loved more than a dominating man: one that could turn her into a puddle with a simple look. Xolotl knew this. His firm grasp on the side of her neck, along with that authoritarian voice and those piercing dark eyes, were enough to send goosebumps down the young woman’s sunkissed skin. Lust immediately clouded her hazel eyes, and her craving for him multiplied-- no doubt with a little persuasion from the drinks she’d partaken in earlier). Whatever the case, it was obvious that Freya, in all of her submissive glory, would do as she was told in order to get what she so desperately wanted.

“Wait for me at the elevators. I’m gonna pay for our drinks.”

She didn’t have to be told twice. With a satisfied smirk and a playful wink, Freya pulled away from Xolotl and strutted away in the direction of the elevators.

Xolotl keeps a watchful eye on Freya’s retreating figure, waits until she’s halfway across the floor to summon a server with the universal gesture for “check, please.” He takes only a cursory look at the tab before passing his credit card to the server along with a ten dollar bill that they pocket with practiced efficiency and a grateful nod.

“Thank you, sir. I’ll be right back with your card.”

As promised, the server doesn’t take long to return, and Xolotl finds his way to Freya soon after. When he approaches, he touches a hand to her lower back, though he only allows it to linger there for a moment before drawing away to call the elevator.

“You ready to go?”

Freya eagerly nodded. "Yes, sir," she answered in her politest, most innocent tone of voice before stepping into the luxurious hotel elevator and closing the doors behind them once her companion had entered.

It’s only a short drive to Xolotl’s place: a sleek, modern building of steel and glass. It’s late enough that the corridors are empty, elevators vacant, and they’re able to make it to his front door without any strange looks.

Xolotl easily finds his keys in his pockets, unlocking the door and allowing Freya to enter first. “After you.”

The apartment is furnished exactly as you’d expect it to be — all hard angles and muted grays — like something out of a catalogue. But there are a few touches here and there that make it clear exactly who the apartment belongs to. The faint, smoky aroma of incense in the air. The rug on the floor, woven in dizzyingly intricate patterns. And the shining disc of copper on the living room wall, ancient and etched with the shape of a man with the head of a bird.

As someone who had visited this particular apartment more than a fair few times, Freya knew exactly what to do and where everything was. After carefully placing her Chanel handbag on top of the kitchen countertop, the brunette took stealthy steps in the direction of Xolotl’s back. And when he finally turned around, she wasted no time in grabbing him by his tie and pulling him into the nearest corner, pinning her body against the wall with his and locking her lust-filled hazel eyes with his own again.

"Is this private enough for you?” she purred, lightly grazing his lips with her own as she spoke. The anticipation was building up, and the sexual tension between them grew thick. It would be Xolotl’s next move that would define the direction of the rest of this night.

Xolotl doesn’t stop Freya when she moves for him, humming out a quiet noise of agreement. If he were not willing, he would have stopped her right then and there. If he were not willing, he would not have let her pin herself with his body against the wall so easily. But he was, and now, with her back flush against the cool, hard surface of the wall and Freya’s hot breath on his lips, Xolotl can hardly stop himself from running his hands over every inch of her skin.

It was still too soon for that, though, too soon; and Xolotl wasn’t the type to rush things.

They had the entire night, after all.

As a concession, he reaches up to brush a hand against the underside of Freya’s arm, fingers ghosting over the surface of her skin in a featherlight touch.

“Better. I don’t like people staring.” Xolotl’s voice has dropped an octave now, low with a hidden, dangerous edge. His hands slip lower as well, coming to rest against Freya’s hips. “This is between you and me, Freya.”

Then, Xolotl closes what little distance remains between them, claiming the goddess’ mouth in a deep, languid kiss, and little by little, begins to trail off to the side. First to the corner of her lips, the edge of her jaw, and finally the soft, golden expanse of her delicate neck. When he draws his lips across her skin, he feels the steady rhythm of her pulse thrumming just beneath the surface.

Only you and me.”
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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by Danvers
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Danvers boo

Member Seen 1 day ago




Sweet Reconciliations
Casa De Acropolis, Seattle
Herc & Hebe (ft. Coco)



a @Danvers & @metanoia collab, ft @KZOMBI3


He raised a visible eyebrow at Comus. Heracles tried to figure out what her plan was and more specifically, how she thought he was going to believe that she didn’t mean to tip over the table. Whether or not this was a play to prevent from losing and, in the process, sabotaging the deal they made, mattered the least to Heracles right now. Even he, someone so dense like him, could pick up on the not-so-subtle changes Hebe was showing. Granted, it did take a bit longer for him to notice, but once he did, he walked with her to a slightly less noisy part of the loft, which took the form by the sink in the second kitchen out of the main party stage.

As he ran a kitchen towel under some water, he handed it to Hebe, offering her a smile in hopes she would be more receptive to it than how she was to how out of control he became. “Here, this should help.”

“Thanks.” Smiling back, Hebe took the towel, beginning to dab at the spots of beer that had splashed spectacularly across her outfit. “And I thought I was the clumsy one…” Shaking her head, a small laugh escaped her lips, the gentle sound tinkling across the space between them. Being alone with him brought the nerves rushing back and Hebe found herself gripping onto the towel, eyes focusing anywhere but directly on his face. Inwardly she cursed herself, wishing she were more like...well more like Coco. For gods sake Hebe. It’s not like he’s a stranger…

It seemed obvious to her that Heracles would prefer to be in the throng of the party, rather than stand idle in the kitchen with her. The buzz of drunken excitement though quieter, was still audible from over here, music and raucous laughter echoing throughout the large loft. “You should go back to the party! You are the host after all.” She blurted out after a moment's silence, gaze moving over to where she could see a mortal drunkenly trying to do a handstand…or maybe it was a cartwheel. It really was difficult to tell amidst the inebriated tangle of limbs. “I’m okay. I’ll just wait for this to dry…” Hebe pulled a face as she looked down at the oversized t-shirt. She was going to stink of beer for the rest of the night. Maybe Hel would have some perfume in her bag or something…she seemed like she would be organised like that.

He brushed off her suggestion for him to go back to the party. “I’m sure they’ll survive without me.”

Truth be told, Heracles didn’t want to go anywhere. Maybe it was the guilt he suddenly felt for possibly triggering something for her, which he still didn’t understand but Heracles had enough awareness to know that much. Besides, if he was earnest with himself, having some time with her away from the chaos of the party was a reward in its own right.

Looking down at her shirt, he tried not to stare but Heracles had wandering eyes and the silhouette the beer made on her chest was a point of interest for those eyes of his; though he quickly brought them up to hers, finding the selectively absent control he rarely had. “I’m sorry, your shirt is ruined.” He frowned for a moment until a lightbulb of an idea went off and he began undoing the buttons of his shirt, unpromptedly taking it off and handing it to her. “Here, you can wear this until your shirt dries. I mean, obviously not here, but you can use the bathroom down the hall if you want.” He offered her a comforting smile, hoping the gesture meant something.

Chestnut eyes widened as Herc suddenly pulled off his shirt, heart racing at the sight before her. She had not expected him to do that. “What-Herc you don’t have to-I’ll be, I-…okay.” Hebe stammered, a blush flaring uninvited upon her cheeks. Despite herself, she was unable to stop her gaze from roving over his bare chest, eyes lingering for a moment too long on those well-earned muscles. Somehow she’d forgotten just how well..hot, he was. “I-I’ll just be a minute.” Not wanting him to see how easily embarrassed she had become, Hebe quickly grabbed the shirt from his hands before rushing off to the bathroom.

They had been gone for quite some time and Coco was getting restless catering to the whims of the mortals that surrounded her. It was intoxicating for a time, being the centre of attention, but it was only because of her 'drunken performance' and she was done playing actress. Pushing herself up from her seated position, one that was forced upon her by someone or another, she went off in search of her cousin and party brethren. Coming around the corner to the kitchen she could hear the two of them conversing lowly with each other. A warm smile spread across her face as their conversation ebbed and flowed as easily as drink from the very cups she poured for her father.

’Where is the old man… haven’t seen him since the meeting… the imprint on her shoulder from the grip of Hades was still throbbing if she dwelled on it for too long, luckily the bruise was covered by her shirt dress. With her father on her mind, as well as the previous knowledge of the conclave coming back to bring down her spirits, Coco took off in search of Dionysus in hopes of preoccupying her demons; just for the night.

A couple of minutes later the goddess of youth returned, looking utterly out of her comfort zone. As she wandered into the kitchen, she placed her own crumpled up t-shirt on the side before leaning awkwardly against the counter. It felt strange to be wearing a piece of his clothing, although she couldn’t help but enjoy the woody scent of cologne and pine that drifted up from it. “So er...how does it look? Totally instagram worthy right?” Hebe nervously joked as she pulled at the bottom of the shirt. It was a little bit shorter than she’d like, only just stopping her from completely exposing herself, but it was at least still better than smelling like an alcoholic.

“Damn!” His voice trailed into an extended, low whistle. “You wear that better than I could ever.” And that was the honest truth of the matter. Hebe had always been a cutie. Dating all the way back to their Mount Olympus days, she was quite literally the shining gem of the Gods. Nobody held a candle to her unrivaled beauty, not Aphrodite nor any other love god. Fast forward several centuries later and all of those feelings he could have sworn were lost found themselves at the forefront of his mind once again. “Well, since you mentioned it, we should totally take a selfie!” He pulled his phone out of his back pants pocket and placed his left arm around her neck, holding the camera up. “Smileeeee!”

Hebes cheeks had once again become tinged with pink at his sweet compliment; though she didn’t have time to dwell on this for long as she found herself suddenly drawn close to him. Her body involuntarily flinched at the sudden contact, instinct willing her to pull away. And she nearly did but for the infectious energy that always surrounded the god of heroes. It instantly put her at ease and she reminded herself that it was fine. It was just Herc…no-one else. Pushing back any undesirable thoughts, a genuine smile lit up her features as he took the picture.

“Oh no, I look like such a dork there!” She found herself laughing as the photo popped up, pulling a face at the result. Without thinking her fingers came up to tap on the screen, swiping through a couple of options until a filter came up which gave them both adorable pink bunny ears. “Everything’s better with bunny ears…” She added happily, before suddenly realising that Herc probably wouldn’t enjoy such a thing. Or at least that’s what she’d been told many years ago. “Sorry…that’s stupid.”

Normally, he wouldn’t but seeing how her pure, innocent, absolutely intoxicating smile flashed as soon as the bunny ear filter came on the screen, Heracles went along with it. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so free. Parties were one thing. They allowed him to let loose when he needed to, but whenever he was with Hebe, her mother and everyone else be damned, he was able to let go of preconceptions about himself. And, honestly, seeing her so happy and giddy and embrace that adorkable nature she’s always emoted had never made him happier.

“No, no it’s not stupid. I think it’s cute,” he said, offering her an assuring smile. You’re cute.” He snuck a quick peck on the cheek while he was at it, not even realizing what he had done until he felt a warm, goosebump-like sensation crawl up his arms.

Her heart fluttered madly, unstoppably at his words, and it took her a moment to acknowledge the kiss. A hand reached up to her face, fingertips running softly over where his lips had been only moments ago. She knew the mere thought of such a thing would’ve once pushed her into a downwards spiral but now the action itself only sent butterflies into her stomach. It felt like a wave of fresh air, one that she hadn’t known she needed but one that enveloped her whole body. Part of her still wanted to sink into herself as she had been so prone to do recently, but another stronger part lit up at Hercs enthusiasm, happily following along.

“Mm, well you look pretty adorable yourself Heracles…” She teased, placing an emphasis on her use of his full name as she pointed to the selfie. “I wonder what your followers would make of this?” Slipping the phone from his hands, Hebe pretended to swipe onto his social media so she could upload the precious cargo.

“Yeah, same here,” he commented absentmindedly. It was only a few seconds later did he register what she meant. “Oh..oh.” Insert overused joke about Heracles being an idiot here. “I mean, I doubt they’ll be looking at me when you’re the real eye candy of this selfie.” He would note, bumping into her shoulder as gently as he could. Given her smaller frame, he didn’t want to hurt Hebe.

A giggle escaped her lips at his slip up, head tilting as she looked up at him. “You’re just being nice.” She said with a shake of her head. Hebe hadn’t been planning to actually upload it but seeing that he didn’t seem too concerned by the idea, she found herself shrugging her shoulders. A playful smile lit up her face when she had added the photo to his stories, shifting her body to lightly nudge him back. “There.” She said with an air of finality before passing the phone back to him.

After a brief series of moments spent looking at Hebe and how incredibly beautiful she was -- a thought Heracles entertained longer than originally intended -- he then thought about that text message just about everyone in the Pantheon he talked to on a regular basis received and how he was certain she did as well. And some ten seconds later, his thoughts focused on them and immediately blurted out, “so this might be out of the blue, but you know that ball that’s happening a couple of weeks? The ones the Romans are hosting?” The transition wasn’t something anyone would call subtle, but he ran with it. “Anyway, I usually avoid their events because they aren’t my cup of tea and I’d rather host another epic party like this one than get all dressed up.” Get to the point, Herc. “Anyway, would you wanna be my date?”

Hebe, who had been distracted by the body heat radiating off the god — which was both intoxicating and comforting at once — found herself staring at Herc blankly when the question finally slipped from his lips. She'd been leaning into the warmth but as confusion spread over her, she took a step back. Maybe she'd just misheard him or something. Surely he didn't want to go with her?

“Me? Are…are you sure?” She stammered nervously. The dizzying sensation of butterflies had crept back into her stomach once more and the goddess busied herself with looking at the pastel pink colour she’d painted onto her nails, not daring to look up at his face. “I mean- I, well there must be loads of influencers and stuff who’d love to go with you…” Her voice trailed off, disappearing into nothing. What she really wanted to do was just say yes but somehow she found the word getting stuck in her throat. Dammit Hebe.

She’s not making this easy for me. Damn it. The thought came to him as he took her hands into his, partially so that she would know he was sure and so she could have a chance to take a breather. He maintained a fixated gaze on her, smiling to ease the worry that was clearly present on her face. “Yes I am absolutely sure. Listen,” he paused, taking a moment to find the words he needed. When he did, he continued, “spending the short time with you--” even if Comus was there, too “--has made some stuff in the past come back up and I just wanna re-get to know you, Hebe.” He admitted with a delayed laugh. “And maybe I just want an excuse to see you again.” He shot her a wink.

Looking down at his hands, Hebe found herself focusing on them as he spoke, carefully taking in his words. After a few moments she willed herself to look back up at him, eyes moving over his face before returning his gaze. She could see the authenticity etched across his features. It was something she’d always admired about Herc. So many of the other gods would lie and trick but he had always been honest with her…at least as far as she knew.

“That’d be nice…” She eventually replied, head nodding gently. The idea that he wanted to get to know her again sent a burst of giddy excitement blooming in her chest, causing a smile to pull at the edges of her lips. “I’d love to go with you.” Without really thinking about it, her hands squeezed his gently, having no desire to let go. “I don’t usually go to balls either. But I guess it wouldn’t be too bad if you were there…” For what felt like the umpteenth time that evening, Hebe felt her face heating up again at her own words. It was amazing how easily he could both put her at ease and make her feel impossibly nervous.

“Though you do know you’re meant to dance at balls right?” She added quickly, a light laugh escaping her lips as she tried to ignore her reddening cheeks.

“Oh yeah, of course!” Great! Dancing, my single greatest foe behind fried stuff with cheese. He gave her a light shrug and a smile. On the outside, he put on a brave front. On the outside, Heracles made it seem as though he knew how to dance. He had the confident smile of someone who knew what to expect, but none of that was the truth. Heracles could do a lot of things: pose for an infinite amount of selfies, shoot a table tennis ball into a solo cup while his back was turned. He could fight an army of Hades’ undead army, but what has avoided him like the plagues and flus has always been a simple one-two step art known as dance. He didn’t know why he couldn’t dance because fighting was just a harsher version of dancing, yet the only times he ever found himself doing it was when he was forced to. “But, it’s not like required, is it?” He asked, trying to casually weave in his inquiry while hoping his worst fear wouldn’t be forced upon him.

“You don’t know?” Unable to resist teasing him just a little, Hebe tried to contain the laugh that threatened to spill from her lips. Apart from the few bits and pieces she’d picked up from the sororities, Hebe barely knew how to dance herself, so she didn’t really expect anyone else to know how either. Though she couldn’t deny that it would be fun to see Herc try. The idea of having an excuse to be closer to him also made her want to give it a go, even if she knew that she’d be far from perfect at it. “Yeah it’s totally compulsory.” A grin spread across her face as she looked up. “The romans are really big on the whole dancing thing apparently…” Unable to go any further, a giggle finally slipped out, nose crinkling playfully at him.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine!” He wasn’t sure if that was the truth or not but some part of him needed it to be so. Dancing was a foe he didn’t want to tame unless he had a good reason. Maybe Hebe would be that reason.
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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by Icy Hot
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Icy Hot hand / crusher™

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𝓒𝓪𝓽 & 𝓜𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓮
10 PM ᴄᴀsᴀ ᴅᴇ ᴀᴄʀᴏᴘᴏʟɪs


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“Bentley! Bentley!“ “Thank you, thank you, my devout subje-“

“Do any of them understand the meaning of moderation?” Eros chuckles under his breath as he sits in his luxury vehicle in the parking garage under the building currently hosting the rager of the season. By the few live streams currently happening it was more than evident that Jackon Drake’s party was in full swing. Which was less than appealing to Eros, who had forgone his wild party days a handful of decades ago, but certainly more desirable than squandering an opportunity to spend time with his favorite sun god. Or so he told himself as the elevator announced its arrival to the top floor of the condominium.

Through the might of a forced smile and his broad shoulders, Eros barely navigated through the throng of inebriated young adults. From his position among a crow of sorry dancers, he could spot at least a couple familiar faces gathered at a beer pong table, and just outside the glass french doors to the patio was Benzaiten upside down in what seemed to be an intense Keg stand competition. Much to his disappointment, in neither locations did he spot the infectious smiling face of his golden boy, but an unwanted presence of a hand running along his chest promptly ended his search.

“Who are you looking for?” The strange woman practically purred into his ear, breaching his personal space once she realized his attention was solely on her as if it were an invite.

“The greek god of sun.” The deadpan answer had the drunk woman laughing as she backed off a fraction, the smell of alcohol on her breath had Eros sighing in annoyance.

“You’re funny~ Looks like you were searching for a good time, and I’m here to give it to yo-”

“I’m not interested. Lose yourself in the crowd before you embarrass yourself anymore.” Eros grumbled releasing her hand from his hold, his eyebrow raised in a challenge as he watched her cheeks grow red and her eyes widen in shock before she spun abruptly and stomped away, “For gods sakes.”

At first, Apollo had been annoyed at the idea of losing his one on one time with a certain god of desire. And then, Herc had arrived, and one drink had become two, two became three, and suddenly, Apollo was much less bothered. The party was in full swing now, flashing lights illuminating the inside as sweaty bodies ground together to the club music Herc had connected.

By now, Apollo had found himself a spot by the window, where he was lighting a joint and looking out over the dance floor, grinning softly. It was only by chance that he spotted Eros from across the room, and when he did, his face brightened, and he took a long drag from the burning cone in between his fingers. Smooth as still water, Apollo exhaled and began sidling through the crowd, moving with the rhythm and grace of a dancer.

“You made it!” the sun god called out once he’d reached Eros, reaching out to grasp his hand, pulling himself closer, until his body was pressed up against the man he seemed to be constantly craving. He took another drag, and offered the joint to the god of desire, a true, 21st century gentleman. “How’s Tlaz?”

Eros felt relief wash over him at the familiar sound of Apollo’s tone, the hands that reached for him this time were met with a relaxed smile, “Hardly made it-” a deep chuckle cut his words short and he accepted the offering. Pot had never been Eros’ vice of choice, but a little Mary Jane to get the edge of annoyance off his shoulders seemed liked a great idea.

“Well you know.. Glorious and sinful and-” Eros took a dramatic drag from the joint before passing it back, letting his exhale expel the smoke and his words, “ thirsting after Ares… well just his dick, but I think that hardly makes it any better. ” Eros answered with pout taking place on his lips.

Apollo couldn’t help the laughter that spilled past his lips, bursts of amusement that caught even him by surprise music in their own way. The situation was one only an immortal could find themselves entangled in, and the absurdity wasn’t lost on him. Very few of these young souls around them needed to worry about their friends coming on to their fathers. At least he hoped that was the case. “We are a messy fucking bunch, aren’t we?”

Still smiling, Apollo began moving slowly, gently, unable to ignore the music that shook the house. “I had a whole dinner planned in my head, but well, this happened. Welcome to the Acropolis,” he said, relaxed as ever.

“Yeah, messy is one way to put it.” Eros replies but his words are softened with a chuckle of his own. The musical laughter of Apollo’s amusement pulled the corners of his mouth upward, banishing the pout from his lips. The hands of the Love God found themselves traveling along the perimeter of Apollo’s body, landing on his waist and pulling him
closer, “Heracles was always the champion of the people.” Eros casts his gaze around the room brimming with energy for a moment before returning back to Apollo, “Guess I’ll just have to squeeze you into my terribly full schedule again.” His words are paired with a playful wink before he’s spinning his dance partner away from him in time with the song, bringing him back with strong arms wrapping around him and swaying to change of songs.

“I was certainly looking forward to enjoying you after dinner.”” Eros’ voice is low, saved only for Apollo’s ears as his tone is heavy and smooth with the sweet desire of his divine nature. It was a power Eros rarely put to use, but riling up cute boys like Apollo was a treat often too sweet for him to turn down.

Whispered words tickled his ears and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Every time they touched, he was perplexed by the magnetism he felt, a force that refused to let him tear himself away. Biting his lip, Apollo looked up at his lover, beautiful as ever, and drank in the sight of him, hands traversing his stone chest. Eros’ cologne wafted to him, weaker than it had been this morning but still strong enough to ensnare the sun god. He wanted nothing more than for all these people to fade away, until it was just him, and Eros, and the music.

“Aren’t you lucky then, that I have my own room, and no qualms about kicking people out of it?” He smiled before taking another hit of the joint and letting the smoke float from his mouth, grey wisps dissipating into the haze that had already begun to gather throughout the house. “But first, we’re gonna dance,” Apollo added, turning so he could grind against Eros, only to spin back around after a few moments. He did enjoy playing the tease.

Eros had become quite fond of the chase, the darkening of lust in his eye turned them from a jade to emerald and deeper yet. The impish smile taunted and drew him forward, the beat of the music pulsed through him but did not reach his ears. The only sound there was of the hushed whines and whimpers he drew out of the proud man before him, the playful brat had succumbed so beautifully to his own pleasure. A century hadn’t been enough to make him forget the time before, and 24 hours was hardly a passing second in that measure, it was beyond Eros’ understanding how he was able to focus on anything throughout the day. Right now all he could focus on was Apollo, not that the flamboyant sun god would mind all that much.

“Dancing, or playing a little cat and mouse, Pollo?” Eros said through a dangerous smirk as he captures Apollo with his hands, returning the favor of grinding himself against the god, “I was half-expecting to see you doing a keg stand with Benten when I arrived.” Eros whispered in his ear and allowed his lips to trail down his neck before he was spinning away from Apollo.

“If you’d gotten here earlier, you might’ve had the chance,” Apollo said, grinning like everything he did was a divine gift. He couldn’t quite help the confidence that flowed from him. It was a mixture of liquor and godly arrogance, with a hint of one tall, blonde, green eyed beauty of a man. This living room was nothing like Olympus, not even close, but still, he wasn’t sure he’d truly felt immortal until now. Here, in this room packed full of bodies and drenched in technicolor, or in between their sheets, looking into those emerald eyes was like ascending.

This time, when the two came back together, Apollo jumped up and wrapped his legs around Eros’ waist, not once considering that this could go any other way than he expected. There was so much he could’ve said right then, but he stayed silent. His eyes pleaded with desire, begged him never to leave again, and then his lips found purchase on his neck, as if daring him to try.

Firm hands caught Apollo, fingers pressing into the fullness of his thigh insistently as an answer to the look in his eyes. The hard planes of Eros’ body pressed against Apollo, heart pounding in his chest and leaning into the sensation of heat that trailed along his neck, claiming him as another’s. Warmth spread through him from fingertips to the tip of his toes, and when it consumed him it grew hotter, “That's enough dancing.” The growl rumbled up through his chest and guided him through the crowd, “Where’s your room Pollo, before I put a show on for your party guests.”

“Who says I don’t want you to?” Apollo said, cocking his head as he exhaled a silvery stream of smoke. He only let the question hang in the air for a moment, fully aware that Eros would play that game of chicken with him until they both found themselves naked on the floor, onlookers be damned. “Upstairs, first door on the left.” He lifted his arm lazily to point the way, deftly flicking the ashen roach of his joint into a nearby trash bag before swooping down to nibble at Eros’ neck.

Eros was quick to follow the directions, taking more care this time in his journey through the crowd as he effortlessly whisked his princess away. The stairs offered little challenge to the tall man, the impatience chiming in the back of his mind had him ascending two steps at a time, and at the top steps his eyes immediately locked onto the closed door of the first room on the left.

The door was swung open and Eros was appreciative for its vacancy, with a less than graceful movement he unwrapped Apollo’s limbs from around his body and let him fall backwards onto the bed as he spun to close the door, “Ah, and the cat wins again..” Eros spoke in his smooth sultry tone as he turned slowly, the top buttons on his shirt undone flashing the smooth skin underneath. The sight of Apollo on the bed, hair disheveled and cheeks flush with lust left the love god’s mouth watering and his pants feeling unbelievably tight.

Apollo stared up at him, wide eyed and smirking. He’d been playing this moment over in his head since Eros had dropped him off this morning, and just like all the times before, it was so much better in person. He kicked his shoes off, sending them flying into a corner of the room, forgotten the moment they left his sight. He’d let the cat win as many times as it pleased him, if this was the view that followed. “Come claim your prize then.”

Eros took slow strides back to his lover, the clothes falling from his body with every step until he was as nude as the day he came into existence. The tension in the air was thick, it was a cloud of lust that darkened their gazes and drew heavy upon their breaths as the distance between them shrunk. Eros struggles to maintain control over his desire, his hands gripping the silks covering Apollo’s bed, hovering over him, “A prize I will claim until the end of our days.”

And claim he did, with an unspoken promise to never vanish again woven between amorous kisses and heated touches.

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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by fledermaus
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fledermaus 【INUYASHA!】

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The venue chosen for the charity event is a stark white building filled with minimalist artwork and a grand floor for dancing. It practically oozes rich modernist bullshit and Jupiter finds himself frowning over the dancefloor from the strip of balcony that runs along all four walls. The venue reminds him of European ballrooms except if European ballrooms were made by 21st century contemporary architect assholes. Instead of the room opening up to nightsky, a skylight of glass meant to open the ballroom up acts as a barrier between the guests and the twinkling stars. Instead of the beautifully mosaic floors of Rome, Jupiter found himself standing on stark white linoleum that will undoubtedly be stained after tonight’s affair – which will come from his budget (Jupiter will throttle whoever volunteered him for this stupid ball).

The sun hangs on the horizon as if it doesn’t want to miss the events of the night, peering into the venue’s ceiling-to-floor windows that face the Seattle skyline. Humans begin to mull in, hovering in clumps together with wine in their hands and gossip on their lips. It’s all very mortal. No one fills the dance floor like they did in the days of old, preferring the company of alcohol and pretty words. For human standards, though, the charity event is in full swing, or that’s what Jupiter’s assistant tells him encouragingly as he scowls over the expanse of the room.

Jupiter was anonymously emailed the guest list the night before, with almost every relevant god listed on there, and a stone has been sitting in his stomach since then. He hasn’t seen Poseidon (the name curls in his mind like poison) since that night he left him at the curb. Of course, Jupiter had lurked until he made sure Poseidon was inside, but the choice to leave Poseidon to struggle to his feet was a heartless one. Since then, Jupiter hasn’t been feeling himself. He’s always been the surly type, quick to anger and quicker to ignore other’s problems. However, he’s started to snap more and more at his employees than he would in the past, and ignoring the beckoning of all his Roman brethren. The throne he envisions lacks a luster to it and a small, dangerous part of his brain thinks it would shine more if there was a matching one next to him of seashells and pearls.

Jupiter turns his back from the floor, adjusting his suit and ignoring his inner conflict. It’s what he does best. Besides, he has an event to attend. Time to mingle with the gods and humans that congregate on the floor.
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Hidden 2 mos ago 2 mos ago Post by KZOMBI3
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KZOMBI3 𝖍𝖎𝖙 𝖎𝖙 𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖑 𝖎𝖙 𝖇𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖐𝖘

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A E N G U S
Mr. O'Malley's class ⊳ Jupiter's Charity Event
dead poet's society gala


"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute, ladies and gentlemen. But because we are members of a race that is fueled by passion. Driven by the ideology that love, romance, and beauty, sustain us. It is what we live for. It is what drives us." A loud snore cut through the silence following the Young One's words and he had to release a playful sigh to rival the noises produced by his student. In the front row no less. "Aye, even Mr. Jones, who values the love of his sleep o'er the love of the romantic language." Aengus delivered a heavy handed, resounding smack to the small desk on which Mr. Jones rested his head, effectively waking up the dazed young man.

A break in his soliloquy was just what he needed, he had been spouting off lines of literature as if it were the essence divine. Well, it was for him. Not so much for the students slumped over in the back rows of his modest room. So, to conclude his lecture he took a play from cinematic history's greatest and applied it. His words boomed across the room garnering attention from those awake, and rousing the dead. "Quick as bunny, gather 'round. Once he held their attention he delved into the words of a mortal legend with the passion only a god such as himself could conjure. Words echoed through the lecture hall, reaching the ears of the students and keeping thier focus on him. He was a performer through and through.

"Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill'd with the foolish,
.... What good amid these, O me, O life?

"Answer."
"That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse."


The rest of the week went by in a blur and Aengus made sure to celebrate another survival by celebrating. A reminder notification dinged from his computer and he was severely prodded about the charity event being held by the Romans. "Oh, yeah. That's right..." a false sense of thoughtfulness on his part and he was opening his phone to shoot his cousin a text.
To: punchy mcpunch👊🏼🍀
oi, fancy a bit o' dancin' sweetheart 😉

If anything, Aengus could always swing by the event, down a few drinks of the godly variety, sweep a couple of lads and lasses off their feet and then be on his way to the pub before spending the rest of the evening relaxing without the issues that typically cropped up when the pantheons crossed paths. Soon enough, threads were donned and accessories in place and the romantic rascal was headed out the door of his cozy home and taking an Uber towards the event's location. Double checking that he sent the correct address to Cu Chulainn.


The sun hung low on the horizon, winking to the Celt as he stepped out of the rented chariot. Aengus just had to wink back towards the glorious star, a simple way of him murmuring a 'goodnight' to the departing giant. Walking up the steps of the contemporary building and couldn't stop himself from grinning madly at the sheet humor of it not taking place in something Roman built. 'Tsk tsk that will never do.' He could only imagine how cantankerous the king of Rome would be this evening and it edged him to find out just how far his buttons could be pressed. With a spring in his step rivaled only by the caricatures of leprechauns he bounded up the steps and across the threshold into the main event.

Stark white would have blinded the Irishman if not for the bodies littered around the room in their differentiating colors and fabrics. The minimalistic artwork — if it could even be called that - on the walls surrounding them helped in breaking up the blandness of the building, but did nothing to draw him closer to inspect them. A mortal passed him by with a tray of assorted drinks that he easily plucked two rocks glasses of whiskey and proceeded to the nearest bar top to down his drinks in preparations for the evening.


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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by smarty0114
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smarty0114 Human

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BALDR
BALDR’S APARTMENT → THE BALL
nervously pining for a particular death goddess



Baldr stood in front of his mirror, fidgeting with a black tie. On the bed behind him, his clothes from the day were piled up, wrinkled and damp with sweat. He’d been doing construction work in one of the neighborhoods in the city before running home and showering, and the mess reflected his rush.

Parties always seemed to make him nervous. Once he’d loved them, more than anything in the world. Baldr the Brave was always the guest of honor, adored by all, celebrated for every minor deed. There were no parties in Helheim though. Only him, and Hel, and the legions of the dead, cursed to remain in the frozen reaches of that barren tundra until Ragnarok came. Or so he’d thought. Ragnarok had come early, or it had never gotten the chance to come at all; whatever happened, Baldr was alive now, had been for nearly two thousand years, and he was changed.

He’d never quite regained the gregarious nature of his old self. After an eternity with one affectless goddess of the dead, you grew accustomed to the quiet. Tonight though, he’d promised someone he’d attend. She wasn’t his beautiful Wolfsbane, but she seemed to care for him, which was more than he could say about the one who’d stolen his heart. Or was it? He never seemed to know, with her. Duty bound them to opposite sides of an eternal war, and maybe she was right, to choose responsibility over him. Those thoughts only exacerbated old wounds.

His tux was finely pressed, an expensive suit that he’d had tucked away in his closet for an occasion like this. The Seattle Redistribution Foundation was not unfamiliar with galas, but Brian Andersen rarely showed his face at such events. Schmoozing was not for him anymore. He couldn’t stand the mummer's game, all the fake smiles and forced laughter. He had good people that worked for him, people who were much better at putting on a mask. Tonight though, he’d force himself to be happy, to be Baldr the Blessed, beloved by all.

To: Girl With All The Books
I’m leaving now. See you there :)


He slipped his phone back into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, and soon enough, he was driving down the freeway, windows down, wind tousling his golden locks. He liked collecting these old cars, rebuilding them. He was often amazed at how fast the mortals seemed to throw things away now. When they’d first arrived on Earth, the people of Istanbul weren’t so terribly different from those he’d once watched over. The people today though, were unrecognizable. Not any less deserving of help, but certainly, much more confusing.

He wasn’t surprised by the venue choice. It was decidedly grand, though the stark modern architecture paled in comparison to some of the palaces he’d seen in his many lives. Where was the passion? The heart? Stiff marble reminded him only of a mausoleum, cursed places. The dead were not meant to be entombed in such a horrific fashion.

Baldr the Brave stepped from his car, quickly blinded by the flashing of cameras, the shouting of reporters eager to get a scoop on Augustus Kingsley or one of the other famous guests in attendance. He wondered how Seattle would react if they found out most of their celebrities were immortal deities, bound to the earth by some strange magic. Probably not well. He chuckled, and pushed his way to the entrance as the valet took his car. Brian Andersen had little trouble getting past reporters. His charming features weren’t comparable to the superstardom of his peers, and for that, he was grateful.

Inside, Baldr’s blue eyes searched the room for two faces, though he found neither there. In fact, it seemed he was early for once, at least in terms of gods. He hadn’t gotten a glimpse of any of his family, and the Vanir seemed just as elusive. Maybe that was for the best. He didn’t need to see her tonight, not when he was trying to accept that whatever he’d imagined between them was just that… imagined. They may share a strange and unusual sort of bond, but it could never be more than that.

He took a glass of champagne, and parked himself in a corner where he could see the entrance, watching for his date’s arrival. He hoped that his heart might skip a beat at her appearance, that she would melt the ice that had encased it and remind him who he was, so that he could make her happy, like she deserved. As much as he wished, and hoped and prayed, he still found that unlikely. He’d left his heart in Helheim.
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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by metanoia
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metanoia

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A T H E N A
THE BALL
Contemplating many things


If there was anything the Greek Goddess of War and Strategy found herself to be well equipped with, it was the skill of being adaptable. Her place within the pantheon was a unique one. Whenever she was faced with new situations or old ones but given a fresh coat of paint of developing circumstances, she adjusted quickly. She has always been able to assess the lay of the land and find the easiest route for her.

This happened whenever the colossus moved and uprooted all divine beings and forced them to either forge new identities or keep the ones they’ve always had since descending to the mortal world. It happened whenever she became the lead detective of a new department in a new city. It even happened when she and Ares formed a temporary alliance to find who killed Hephaestus. Even if she didn’t want to, Athena knew it was for the good of the Pantheon.

“The good of the Pantheon,” she repeated under her breath with a forced sense of obligation, a feeling she was all too familiar with.

Athena had gone down a different route for the ball. Given its rather...elegant nature, showing up in her usual black charger, while she personally didn’t care, she had the reputation of her Pantheon to think about. So she shelled out a few extra bucks to rent a luxury car but not for her to drive. Not that she had anything against it, but the white evening gown she hadn’t been seen in since the 80s and the beige-colored heels that elevated her an extra three inches made it a bit difficult to walk in, much less drive in. So she was in the backseat of a black Lincoln continental.

As she stared down at her phone, looking over news articles about the Hooded Vigilante having struck one of Ares’ docks, this time being responsible for destroying some drug shipments and putting even more of his men in the hospital, her mind went to various thoughts but the first one that stood out was how this criminal was doing what most wouldn’t. There was something in her that was impressed by the size of this vigilante’s balls but she felt they could go bigger and maybe with half the effort.

That was, of course, her thoughts missing the point. The Hooded Vigilante was getting bolder and, if they didn’t stop, might even incur the wrath of Ares. Maybe Athena was more worried about what could happen to the bane of her fellow war god and less about catching him.

“We’re here, Miss Steele,” her driver announced.

Athena closed her eyes for a few seconds, shutting out any and all thoughts about what she just read. Tonight was going to be a work-free and stress-free kind of night. She wouldn’t think about how the most useful partner she had transferred to Phoenix, Arizona last week. She wouldn’t let the fact that someone at the ball could be responsible for setting hellfire to her kind. No, Athena wasn’t going to allow this night be tainted by any of that. All she was going to do was enjoy an evening at a beautiful white building and maybe, for the first time in centuries, have fun.

And so the goddess stepped out. Her dress swayed with the gentle wind, fabric easily moved by it and she held her gold and silver clutch close to her, eyes forward. For however long it lasted, she would allow herself the benefit to indulging in whatever the Romans had to offer this evening.
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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by smarty0114
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smarty0114 Human

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Victory And The Moon

The Ball
an @smarty0114 and @Icy Hot collab


“Ears open tonight ladies. We’re in the lion’s den now.” Artemis’ eyes never left the moon that hung high in the sky, her nose pressed to the cold glass of her limousine’s window. Despite her perceived lack of attention, Thalia and Zoe knew that Artemis was always watching, and they nodded with an almost religious fervor. “Pay special attention to the Romans, but if anyone seems off, check them out. I don’t want any surprises tonight.” The limousine slowed to a halt a moment later, and Artemis stepped out, cameras flashing to capture her gown.

Zoe and Thalia trailed behind her, assistants to the mortal eye, but once the cameras were gone, Selena O’Ryan disappeared once more, just another face the moon loved to show. A flick of the wrist sent her girls floating off into the ballroom, looking for a morsel that might sate her hunger for knowledge. Artemis’ attention was not with them though, but with a woman, beauty personified. Pale grey eyes traced her body, cloaked in elegance, and she couldn’t help but remember the treasures that hid beneath the cloth. She smiled softly, and crossed the room, snagging two glasses of champagne on the way.

She halted herself with an inhuman grace, her dress whirling around her at the sudden end of motion, her body a tornado of color for just a moment as she crept up behind Venus, bringing her lips close to her ear so that whatever words she spoke were theirs, and theirs alone. “I brought you a drink.”

Venus turned slowly, face alight with warmth and a twinkling of desire in those honey eyes that drank in the gorgeous goddess standing before her. The conversation she had been having with some “hot shot” mortal was long forgotten once she turned around, and the sound of a huff and heavy feet moving onwards made her chuckle, “Just what I needed, and the drink is a plus.” Venus’s voice was almost a whisper, the proximity of their bodies didn’t require a volume greater than that. The live classical music filling the room was a background meant to set the atmosphere but not demand the attention of the guests.

Venus claimed her drink gracefully and stole a quick peck from her dearest friend before she allowed space to fill them with a showy spin, the satin finished fabric twirling after her in a small sea of emerald green. The Emerald Dress had garner just the attention she was looking for as she entered the venue, paparazzi and reporters asking about her coming winter lines and asking for confirmations on various pieces of gossip buzzing around.

“Did you just arrive? I figured I’d be strutting into a room full of gods, and yet you are the first I’ve seen, the great and terrible host included.”

Since their first meeting years ago, Artemis had always thought that Venus wore the spotlight better. Her spin only cemented that theory in her head as Artemis watched the Victorious One twirl in elegant circles. There was a magnetism to Venus, a pull over others that impressed the moon goddess. She was incomparable, a beauty that knew no equal.

“Just a moment ago. If my brother’s coming tonight, I’m sure the rest of my family won’t be far off,” Artemis said, glancing at the entrance at the mention of Apollo. “Augustus is certainly in for an eventful evening,” Arty continued, a smirk spreading across her face as she looked back at Venus. “I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. Everything going on… it’s been busy.” She didn’t need to utter Hephaestus’ name to get her point across. His death had hung over the entire city in the past weeks, though the mortals still seemed to be hoping for their mayor’s heroic return.

Venus waved off the apology with an understanding grace, “I am not so insecure to demand your attention at every passing moment- not that I would protest such an arrangement.” A small laugh passed through her lips as she took a sip of her champagne, “but I understand, the news came as a shock to us all. I just hope you have been tending to yourself in light of all the things you’ve got going on.” There is only room for sincerity in her tone as a gentle hand grasps Artemis’. Venus felt nothing at the news of Hephaestus’ death, and felt nothing for the Greeks in general but she had found herself worrying over Artemis and how such a fate would affect her.

Despite her curiosities Venus withholds the questions she wants to ask, at least for the time being. Instead of searching for answers and prodding for information she settles on something more easily digested, “The guest list for this event is quite peculiar, I’d be interested in learning who threw this whole soiree together… and on such a short notice at that. All the gods, even some who we all believed were long gone, and only the most affluent of humans, I’m excited to see what comes of the night.”

Venus' words clued Artemis in to something peculiar; Jupiter was only playing the role of host. She could only guess as to what that meant, and she was anything but hasty. She tucked the thought away for later, and returned her attention to the only person in the room that could deserve it. “We haven’t had a good show in a while. I’m sure tonight will change that.”

The huntress took a sip of champagne, her eyes never leaving the woman before her. Venus was different from all the others. Dynamic and exciting and brilliant, she was the Mother of Rome, the woman who birthed a nation that had changed the world. She wasn’t prey to be hunted, but a fellow predator, to be respected, and admired. She was well aware of how complicated this would become, especially now that she’d placed so much trust in Poseidon’s will. Their families would likely be at each other’s throats before the night was through, and they’d yet to find Hephaestus’ body. If she was right, and they discovered that the Romans had been involved with his death, chaos was sure to ensue.

“You should come by, after all of this. Spend the night,” Arty said. The smile that followed was not so different from her brother’s radiant grin. Whatever chaos rained down on Seattle, she was certain her and Venus would slip their way through, somehow, someway.

Venus raised an eyebrow at the suggestion, letting her desire for such a thing to remain tempered behind a pleasant smile. The goddess of Love was not without her enjoyment of a bit of coyness, “Mm that is a thought..” she mused in a purr like drawl, the magnetism of her words drawing her own body closer to Artemis’ again, “I would quite like that.” her words drew on as she leaned into Artemis her own lips ghosting against her ear as she whispered conspiratorial words dipped in sultry honey, “Let us hope the secrets of our families coming to light don’t have us parting like the sea and sky have…” she pulled back slowly the light of a chandelier twinkling in her eyes, “or at least tonight not be the event for that. I’d much rather fall asleep to the sounds of our pleasure echoing in my mind than that of angered men and mothers.” Venus brought her flute to her lips and space found real estate between them again as her attention diverted from Artemis for a moment to cast around the room taking note of the gods and goddesses that had entered, especially of a man standing alone dressed in green. Oh fate, how sweet you are.

Her cheeks flushed red, a sight reserved for Venus. No one else could set her mind racing and her heart aflame. No one else could uncoil the knot she’d wound herself into. Artemis was a being of complexity, and no simple creature would satisfy her. So many words hung in her throat, begging to be released. If they were alone she would assure Venus that no one would come between them, not if the huntress could help it. She’d hold her close and remind her that the echoings of their pleasure need not cease. How cruel it was that they were born worlds apart, forced to cross so many lines to be together. Cruel as it may be, she’d cross every line if it led to Venus. Her hand, still pressed between Venus’ slender fingers, squeezed, firm and soft all at once. A grasp that said, ‘I’m never letting go.’ “I’ll do my best to make you forget any mishaps,” Arty said, smirking. “Fair warning, if you’re hoping for a private conversation, stay away from the girls in white.” Artemis nodded over at Thalia and Zoe, but made no other expressions. Alerting Venus to her spies was foolish, risky, a lover’s mistake. Perhaps she was in love then. Or just a fool.

Venus couldn’t help the giggle that fell from her lips as Artemis made her aware of her spies, it was a sound purely of amusement and her tone when she spoke was filled with admiration, “How I could expect anything less from you is a fault of my own. I hope your family only shows their appreciation for you, you infinitely beautiful and brilliant woman.” Venus returns the squeeze, an echo of the sentiment Arty sent her first, but perhaps not as firm, or unwavering, or reliable as what shines in the radiance of the goddess holding onto her. Venus would much rather spend her night ignoring all else conspiring and gossiping with Artemis, but duty rings its bell as more people and gods arrive, she has celebrities and politicians to dress and gods to question.

“I’ll be finding you again later tonight, try not to be too rough on anyone.” Venus’ parting kiss was gentle but long enough to leave her desired effect before she completely pulled away and lost herself in the crowd with the Governor and her Husband in her line of sight.

Artemis bit her lip as Venus disappeared into the crowd, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. She knew why they had called her Venus the Victorious now. Even against the cold stone that she had erected, the Roman found a way. If Greece fell once more, would it matter, if Venus was by her side? That kiss made her think it would not.
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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by smarty0114
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smarty0114 Human

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TIMOR
DOWNTOWN → THE PAD → THE BALL
pensive, intrigued, calculating


In Seattle, once the sun went down, fear ran through the streets like rain through a gutter. Everywhere Timor walked, the smell enveloped him, invigorated him. Every breath he took brought the taste of it to his tongue. A woman across the street was unnerved by his smile, and a man in the nearby park was beginning to worry about what the gathering clouds might do to his tent. A child in an apartment he passed was watching a scary movie past his bedtime, and a young woman passing through an alley was clutching her keys between her knuckles, jumping at every shadow.

He shouldn’t be here, roaming the city, but he couldn’t help himself. A night surrounded by gods and rich, prattling mortals would not quench his thirst. The wealthy had fears, but none quite so sweet as those who’d been swept under society’s rug. And the gods? Well, fear ran off them the same as anyone else, perhaps better than some mortals. The deepest darkest secret of any god, is that they’re just as afraid as mortals. Timor’s hatred of the other pantheons stemmed less from a distaste for watching them squirm, and more so from a lack of patience for those divine beings who’d stood against Rome. Some were simply less worthy than others.

The apartment he shared with Metus was on the edge of the nicer parts of Seattle, where the haves were forced to look at the have-nots who’d been sacrificed in their scramble to the top. It was a nice place, surrounded by neighbors who’d describe the Salvius brothers as ‘good people’ and ‘hardworking boys.’ Timor let himself into a dark living room, and was greeted by a bolt of fur and a sudden series of loud, deep, barks.

“Crowley, sit.” Timor said, his voice monotone, yet commanding. In the dark, he could see the shape of a pit bull, face marked by a few old scars, plop down, tongue lolling out to say hello. He crouched down, bringing a hand up to pet Crowley, smiling softly as the dog lunged towards him in greeting.

After a moment with Crowley, Timor rose, and strode confidently through the darkened room to his own bedroom. Calloused fingers found purchase on a lightswitch and suddenly, the room was bathed in scarlet light, casting long shadows across the floor. Vintage horror movie posters covered the walls, and a desk across from his bed was cluttered with books, paperback spines intermixed with leather bound tomes. The tone of the room might’ve been off putting to most, but to Timor, it was comforting. The select few mortals who managed to find their way home with him often found it intriguing, though if they were spending the night with Timor, they were likely already intrigued by all that was strange and taboo.

His suit was hanging behind the door, freshly pressed this morning for the occasion. He might not have been looking forward to the event, but he’d been requested and that meant he’d be prepared. Crowley sat quietly on his bed while he changed and looked himself over in the mirror. He was gone as quickly as he’d come, a shadow in the night.

Flashy as his car might’ve been, Timor pulled out of his parking lot and onto the street with restraint. Power didn’t tempt him like it did others. The engine purred as he drove down the street, winding through the streets of Seattle. When he finally arrived at the venue, he parked his own car, and slipped in through the service entrance. Cameras held no allure for the god of fear, and he preferred to enter with a bit less conspicuity.

Italian leather slapped against white linoleum as Timor found his way to the ballroom, eyes quickly scanning for his fellow deities. He saw Baldr, watching the entrance, and Athena joining the fray. His mother stood off to the side, whispering in the ear of Greece’s huntress. He watched as they tried to hide their intimacy, but it was clear to see the dance they were doing. Mother, what are you doing?

Timor kept still though. Any judgements he had were not for him to speak. His mother knew what she was doing, even if he did not. Standing still, Timor found it easy to fade from view. Most mortals simply would prefer not to see him, and when he stood against the wall it was all too easy to overlook the pale, dark haired Salvius boy. On his right, two girls stood, dressed in white gowns, beautiful. They whispered before breaking apart, heading for opposite sides of the room. The same fear wafted off of them, ripe and bursting with flavor. Fear of discovery.

Strange. Like a cat, he moved from the wall, following one of the girls at a distance. Who had come along tonight? Spies in the ballroom? He couldn’t tail the both of them, but he could at least follow one. Every move she made tonight, the sentinel in the shadows would be watching. Nam bonum Roma
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Hidden 2 mos ago 2 mos ago Post by Gothelk
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Gothelk Vacancy

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MARS
MARS
ʀᴏᴍᴇ 1.5 » ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀʟʟ
ᴅᴜᴍ ꜱᴘɪʀᴏ ꜱᴘᴇʀᴏ




The stars gave depth to the backdrop of the lake that settled neat along the balcony's horizon. Deep in Mars' chest he felt the tug of some lost string, strumming against the wood beat of his heart to stutter the still breath in his lungs. Something had lost itself to the idle passage of time; his chest weighed heavy under the anvil pressed to his shoulder blades, bending him hunched to face the blurred lights of his shoes. Mars' felt the weight tip him forward against the tile that clacked at the tip of his shoe where he could see now his face shrouded in the dusk that faded with the creeping moon.

Many things allowed him some measure of happiness. The guilt of having all that he did at his finger tips only to melt to the melancholy the parted his ribs to nestle in the cavity behind his sternum. It broke his heart in the privacy of his room, his apartment, his office, staring at a blankness that covered his wall. The forest greeted him, burning kisses to his collarbone; victory danced against the muscles of his back, her wind light giggles at his ear; the comfort of darkness took measured steps beside him, stalwart and constant as the light of the sun. Yet...

Mars turned his heel the nightstand beside his bed, deep mahogany drawers yawning open to his touch. He bit his lip. Between his fingers he grasped a signet ring, spun with deep turquoise greens gradient into a blue that opened into the golden eye dotted with teal, inlaid with a rich brown. Upon its band written 'IVNO' engraved in bright gold. It felt cold as he slipped it upon his finger, tightening his knuckles; it felt aged against his skin, doubtless still ravaged by time despite the constant care taken to keep it shining, pristine. Deep lines settled above Mars' brows at the prospect of losing this. His heart ached at the timeless cycle of his life that burdened him with the reminder that the underworld may not take her—that she'd be stardust dashed against the brilliant sky.

"The stars can shine in your stead, mother, that the world can look up and bask in your brilliance," he whispered. He sucked in his bottom lip, gnawed at the skin to break the prickling water welling at the corner of his eyes.

He breathed, deep and heavy enough to stretch the fabric of his suit. Matters needed attending to and Mars had a duty to his family. It would do no good to fall into mourning, even though the ache of loss still tugged his head downward.

Would pride fill her face?

Or would the ache of disappointment break her gaze and turn her head away?

Mars closed his eyes. No... he willed, hands gripped until his nails dug into his palms. Marcus Salvius refused to bow to emotions tonight, not until he found himself in the safety of familiar arms.

To: Vulpis Mea 🦊
Prom?
Y [✓] N [ ]
Apologies, I must have filled it out by mistake. I'll have a word with my assistant about this, I assure you.


The phone felt grounding in his hand, something to look forward to—something to take his mind off of the shroud of stars too bright over his. He contemplated for a moment, staring at the screen before a smirk fell upon his lips.

To: Vulpis Mea 🦊
😉🍆 ...unless?


Perhaps his guise fell too far with a certain horned God. It felt liberating to shake the hardened collar around his neck to howl in delight at the fox between his feat. To give himself over to a flame he refused to douse. Did it leave him vulnerable? Most definitely. But unlike a certain carpet shocking king—did he mention he was a king—Mars preferred to dip his claws into the waters, see how deep he could go until it forced him to depths beyond his understanding.

With his mind finding comfort in deep green canopies, Mars allowed himself to shuffle to his car.



Celebrities came in a variety of different aspects. It so happened that a CEO tech mogul classified as a celebrity simply by owning a multi-billion dollar corporation. Mars found it perplexing that cameras would shutter at his arrival and a flurry of reporters would ask him a myriad of questions. Merger this, merger that. Eco-footprint. Accusations of pandering to eco-terrorists and communist. None of it phased him, though he felt glad that their attention suddenly shifted behind him to some faceless entertainer.

Mars sighed, allowing himself to pass through the threshold of marble and pinch his brows at the careless interior. It couldn't be helped. Some modern architecture lacked a soul and this particular building fit the bill solidly. He supposed Jupiter couldn't find a better venue in light of the rush that befell him, unprompted in a flash of trickery.

The bustle of mingling voices caught his ear, breathed into him the vibrant life of people, mortals and gods alike. He breathed it in, relished the buzz that shot down his spine. He allowed the moment to pass, then let his eyes roam the many faces of those present. Athena stood a statue in brilliant light. Venus let the foam of her honeyed words dip into the moon in Artemis' chest. His son, Timor, trailed the ebb and flow of shade that stood between marble pillars.

No fox faced youth amongst the masses. It stung at his heart just slightly, if only to disappoint his timely arrival. His face fell but a fraction before he swept through the room with heavy footsteps. Jupiter would likely find himself perched above it all, likely scanning faces for a particular sorrow laced sea god. It took a miracle not to roll his eyes in reflex as he planted himself at the base of the stairs Jupiter descended from, a hand grasping a wine flute that passed him by.

"Regret and heartbreak really bring out the shade of vanity in your eyes, Augustus," Mars bit at his brother, the hint of a smirk tugging the corner of his lips. His hands straightened the lapel of his jacket, eyes drifting downward, "Do we have the virtue of witnessing Julius in full attendance tonight? Or did he send a doctor's note this time?"


Interactions: Jupiter @fledermaus, Pan (via Text) @smarty0114
Mourning: Juno @KZOMBI3


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Hidden 2 mos ago Post by smarty0114
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smarty0114 Human

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THE BALL


The garden behind the venue was well lit, and still devoid of most mortals. As the sun’s rays faded from view, Artemis gazed down at the city, from her vantage point behind a sculpted stone railing, and sighed. She had toiled after this wretched rock for centuries, and still, she was hardly any closer than when she’d begun. Could she truly be called the Mistress of the Hunt? Perhaps not…

The sun had set just moments ago, and already, it rose behind her, a singsong greeting piercing her thoughts. “You knoooow, if you missed me that much, you could’ve just come for a visit? You know where I live.”

Artemis turned and rolled her eyes, placing a pale hand against the fine fabric of his tux and shoving him back. “Personal space, Pollo,” she said, earning a chuckle from her twin. Despite her obvious annoyance, a smirk tugged at the corner of the huntress’ mouth. However much he vexed her, Apollo was one of the few people in this world that understood her, loathe as she might be to admit it. He didn’t need the ego boost.

Apollo, grinning, took a spot next to his sister, leaning against the railing. “Not quite so good as the ones I used to make, just saying.” This time, Artemis laughed. It was usually like this with them. If anyone could chisel away the stone that Artemis lived within, it was Pollo. “How are you Arty? No bullshit, please and thank you.”

Artemis sighed, looking everywhere until she was forced to meet Apollo’s eyes. “How do you think I am, oh great Oracle?” Her brother was many things, but he was not her keeper. If he’d guessed her thoughts, she’d have no choice but to go along with it, but she would not offer him her plans so willingly, as much as she wished she could. If Apollo ever found out what she truly wanted with the Colossus, he would place that chisel through her heart, of this she was certain.

“Low blow,” Apollo said, miming a wound to his heart with all the melodrama befitting a god of the arts. Artemis’ scoff was all the applause he required, and he quickly regained his composure, nudging his sister playfully. “I think, you’re tearing yourself up trying to find out who killed Hephaestus, because you can’t stand not having all the answers. Am I right?”

“It’s more than that Pollo, and you reducing it to something so trivial is foolish,” Arty replied, her mood quickly shifting. “Someone has a god killer, don’t you see why that might be something we should try and control? Ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

“Why do you think I want you to drop it!” Apollo hissed. Artemis might’ve seen the two as being on opposing sides, but Apollo never seemed to. Selfish as he could be, he wanted his sister safe. “You’re not invincible. Is it so hard to believe that I don’t want you to get hurt. Let Ares deal with this, you don’t need to be involved.”

“Oh, yes, because Ares ending up with a god killer is so much better!” Artemis threw her hands up in exasperation, a laugh brought on by the derangement of anger breaking through her lips.

Apollo’s retort was cut off by a muffled shout behind them, followed by the doors they’d come through shuddering. Concern replaced anger on both of their faces, and the two shared a look that said, ‘I’m not done, but this is much more troubling.’ In unison, the two tore open the doors, and Timor and Thalia came tumbling outside, Timor falling on top of the Maiden, hands clutching her wrists.

“Who sent you?” Timor hissed, only to be met by a swift kick to the side from Artemis.

“Get off of her, Dog. She’s mine,” Artemis said. Her words were thick with authority, a mother bear who’d caught a predator trying to make a meal out of her cubs. Timor grunted, growled, and stood to face her. He managed to take a step forward before Apollo spun him around.

“Hey, Sweeney Todd, this is not the place. Why don’t you go tell your daddy we say hello, okay?” Apollo said, smarmy as ever. Timor clenched and unclenched his fists, steely gaze boring into Apollo, surely imagining all the terrible things Metus would do to him if he asked. With a chilling grace, he brushed off his suit, and removed Apollo’s hands from his shoulders, before walking inside, gone like he’d never even been there. A shadow in the night
.
“Which one was that? Fear or Terror?” Apollo said, eyes trained on the doorway. The scene might be new, but this situation wasn’t all that strange. The twins had been quite the team in a fight. Having each other's backs was second nature.

“Fear. Timor. Mars and Venus’, and apparently he’s the nicer one.” Artemis said as she helped Thalia to her feet.

“Fucking Romans.”

Artemis focused now, on the girl in front of her. She was shaking, ever so slightly, but when Artemis brought a hand to her shoulder, Thalia pushed it away. “I’m fine, my lady. I can go back inside, if you want.”

“No. Go back to the car, Thalia. You’re done for the night.” Sympathy had left Artemis. She had a whole night left to get through, and Timor had already exposed one of her little birds. She didn’t have time to waste on Thalia’s ego.

“But-”

“Go. Now.”

Thalia didn’t hazard another word, and instead turned on her heel, slipping back into the ballroom, and presumably, back out to the limo in which she’d arrived. Once she was gone, Apollo turned to face Artemis, grinning despite the recent tension. “Gods, that was exciting! We never get to do fun shit like that anymore.”

Artemis rolled her eyes. If she kept speaking with Apollo, she was liable to lose them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. That was a fucking mess.” She pursed her lips and crossed her arms, pacing back and forth. “If I’d known that Mars would’ve brought his hounds I’d have left the girls at home.”

“Oh look on the bright side, Arty. I think I agree with you now.”

Artemis chuckled at that. “I’m not surprised. You usually get there, eventually.”

It was Apollo’s turn to roll his eyes. “And they say I’m arrogant.”
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